Postbellum
by Xxsweet-venom-kissxX
Summary: Sequel to The Bargain.  The war is over, and Wizarding Britain is slowly recovering.  Scabior is now considered a war-criminal, and Greyback is still at large.  A chance run-in one night brings back many things that had been left behind in the forest...
1. Chapter 1

**This is a sequel to my other Scabior/OC story, _The Bargain_. I plan for it to be much longer and have an actual plot (I've got a basic, basic outline that's subject to change now because of a detail in an already written chapter). **

**However, I have started college. I have to get back into the swing of studying the while balancing work-study, community service and my off-campus job. I need a thesis for a midterm in October. Those reasons were why I wanted to wait and get a few chapters written before I posted it here (Tumblr's easier to post on, and it gives me a bit of feedback before I give it to a broader audience). Keep ahead and if I don't have the time to get something written, I can at least, give you something and not keep you waiting. **

**I don't know if that's going to work, honestly, but I can try.**

**Right, so, back to the story. Those who supported Voldemort and the people that took part in Muggleborn persecution and torture are, here, considered war-criminals. There are still Death Eaters that fled and are wanted, and Snatchers, while not Death Eaters, are still wanted because of their actions in hunting down people according to blood status for money. They benefited from Voldemort's skewed Ministry. I use 'crimes against humanity' because it's general; they hunted 'blood traitors' who could have been half- or pure-blood, not just the Muggleborns. Greyback is still doing his thing, but he isn't really touched upon just yet. **

**I'm going to shut up now. **

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><p>He had survived that fall from the bridge, apparating away at the last second. Cowardly, maybe, but he refused to die via plummeting to the ground.<p>

Scabior fell upon the floor of his destination, both from the continued downward fall he was in the middle of and from lack of standing ability. He had hit some of the support beams on his way down, earning him bruises and a few open wounds. Having gone feet first, it was no surprise his legs were where most of the injuries were. Great.

He was in some one-bedroom apartment he had gotten earlier in his life. The landlord was a Muggle, and when pestered about rent being overdue, he simply cast _Obliviate_ and was left alone about it.

He was in the middle of the tiny bedroom, and he used a bed post to hoist himself back up and sit on the bed. His boots were untied and gingerly pulled off; at least those things were steel-toed, ensuring there was little damage there. Pants came next, carefully. They were torn in places, slightly stained with blood. He'd spell them clean, mend them when he got the chance.

His coat was flung onto the floor, his vest and scarf and shirt following suit. Those too, were dotted with blood. There was a gash along his ribs, bringing a sharp pain with every inhale.

Not so bad, otherwise. The bruises he could live with. The large lacerations on his calves and thigh…not so much. Muttering a few healing spells, he watched the muscle begin to string back together, flesh grow back, leaving a large pink area of scarring. That large, horrid thing that was hindering his breath came next, and he brought in a large amount of air, testing. No more sharp pain.

The pain didn't seem to end though. It'd be worse tomorrow, he knew it. The day after was always the worst.

He scooted back, pulling his legs onto the sheets. He turned onto his side carefully and opened the drawer in the bedside table. He kept a few potions of various uses in it, but there was one that never seemed to fail him.

A small, clear glass bottle containing a clear liquid. Firewhiskey. The solution to everything.

Not true, of course, but he could wish.

He twisted the top off and took a long swig, the substance burning in a way Muggle alcohol couldn't. It was wonderful, and took his mind off the other pain for a short while.

Scabior replaced the bottle and sighed. He'd be counted among the dead, or at least the missing. There was no going back, not entirely. Not that he wanted to. He was fine with the snatching. He liked that. In another life, he could probably have been an Auror. But his life was too full of the darker aspects for that to work out too well.

When it came time to be a foot soldier, to rush down that hill and surge into the castle…it wasn't the same. He was expendable in the end. And he supposed no one liked to discover that. It made their life a little less meaningful.

Not that his life was full of meaning in the first place.

He reached for that bottle again. This shit needed to stop. Just because he had a near-death experience didn't mean he had to go and be all philosophical.

Scabior closed his eyes, plagued with the sensation of falling.

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><p>Riley had waited it out. Auror though she was, she didn't like war.<p>

As much as she didn't want to accept it, she was a part of it. The times when she had to supply identification (fake, of course, but the ones checking were dim enough to not notice), and the attacks she happened to be caught in were evidence of that. A by-stander, subject to the new rules of the puppet-Ministry.

She had rolled out of bed to an owl at her window; the Prophet, proclaiming Voldemort was vanquished and all was well. Well being used in relative, since there were so many victims and their families and a mess to clean up.

She had purchased an empty shell of a store, and in the fervor of the victory returned it to its former glory. A small café; baked goods, coffee, tea. She lived above the shop, where there were a few apartments above she could rent out to those in need of a place.

She had gone to her parents, just to give closure that she was alive. Her father was the one to answer the door and give the news that her mother had taken her own life. The news of the war, the death and the discrimination had become too much. The war had done what every war does, kill whether you were in battle or not.

Riley had missed the funeral.

It was strange how quick everything moved. From closed down, gray and dismal to colorful, animated and lively in the matter of a few months. The Alley was the place of everything again, stores reopening; Ollivander's was sporting new paint, new windows and a new sign.

The Prophet had begun to stop the propaganda and return to being an actual newspaper. There was an official list of casualties and a list of missing witches and wizards published; she kept them tucked away in a drawer. She had known a fair amount of the dead and missing.

Her mind occasionally wandered back to Scabior. He was on the list of missing, with 'wanted for war crimes and crimes against humanity' in big, bold letters next to his name and a picture. The memories of the woods, of that night and the short morning after, would plague her at times.

She had almost given in and gone to find him once or twice. She missed his scent of tobacco and campfire and leather. She wore that scarf all the time, remembering not only her mother but the Snatcher as well.

Hogwarts wasn't entirely restored by the time September rolled around, but it was still open. Education had to continue, McGonagall had said. The castle was, to some, the only home they had now after all. Good, she thought. As a society, Wizarding Britain had moved past the power Voldemort had over them, and this was a demonstration of that.

After a rather stress-filled day (she had to remind herself she could no longer hex people and get away with it), she wanted nothing more than an evening along with a bottle of Butterbeer and some of the onion soup at the Leaky Caldron. She sat at a table, reading over the Prophet and taking slow spoonfuls of the salty broth.

A silhouette of a figure crossed the table, blocking out the light she was relying on. She looked up; no one ever bugged her. She gave off a vibe that said "do not disturb" and no one bothered to think otherwise. She knew it was because she still looked like an Auror.

She looked up at the figure, a man. Tall, thinner than she remembered. His hair was still long, if not slightly neater than before. The plaid pants were missing. That smirk hadn't changed much, if only a bit less cocky. And those eyes still carried slight traces of belonging to a predator, a hunter, although very tired.

"'ello again, beautiful."


	2. Chapter 2

**Your reviews make my day. I come home tired and stressed and I see lovely reviews that make everything a bit better.  
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**I figure, after this one, I'll update once a week. This is only going up because classes were cancelled last minute (I have an 8:00 class, they sent the email at 7:48 when I was already half-way to campus. Bad flooding just down the road from the college. Messy stuff). **

**_Allons-y!_  
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><p>He sat down before she could say anything, gesturing to Tom at the bar.<p>

Riley could do nothing but stare. Questions formed faster than she could think. She pulled her elbows off the table, afraid to get too close. As if any form of contact would whisk him away or something. A part of her refused to believe this.

"This is purely coincidental, right? This," she gestured to the table, to him, to herself, "didn't involve stalking, yeah?"

"Don't flatter yourself, love. I 'appened to decide I would like to not eat my own cookin', and thus figured where better to go than the Leaky Caldron. There're prob'ly several better places, actually. I recognized you, tha's all." He took a swig from the glass Tom placed in front of him.

"I don't…I…"

"Do us both a favor an' jus'…don't say anythin' for a bit, yeah?"

She couldn't exactly call it awkward; it wasn't like the morning after all those months ago, where they both had to take in what happened with the other. Complete strangers, together all because she wanted something back. Riley went back to her soup, looking at the paper but not really reading it. She sipped her Butterbeer (that skeptical, brief eyebrow raise of his at seeing her drink of choice didn't go unnoticed), trying to not look at him.

Scabior had taken the paper from her within minutes of his sandwich being placed on the table. He gave a slightly proud grin at seeing his name still on the list of missing, along with the wanted tag.

"Where'd you end up, love? Never found you again." He folded the paper, put it down on the table and looked right at her. His elbows were on the table, folded hands supporting his head.

"Camped for a while, lived out the attack on the castle."

"I would 'ave thought an Auror would 'ave wanted to be in the middle of the action." Another swig from his glass.

"I didn't have a death wish. I don't like being in battle. I'm more into investigation than confrontation." Riley leaned back from the table again, finished with her dinner.

"Could 'ave fooled me with the way you 'andled your…situation months ago." He pointed to her scarf, a pop of color against the grey shirt than brought out her grey eyes. "You said that thing was a reminder of 'ome?"

"Yeah." An unconscious gesture, her hands fell to the fabric, soft as ever. As if holding it would bring her mother back. "Although when someone is no longer who the used to be, I think the term home is lost. My mother was never the same after her trial."

"'ow is she now?"

Silence passed between them, and he couldn't help but constantly see the flicker of memories behind her eyes. Her fingers tensed around the fabric.

"Gone. I missed the funeral by some months."

"Sorry, love." He said it before he realized, more out of an odd kick of courtesy than anything. He'd been trying to get back into society, re-teaching himself basic social graces. If he didn't come off as a rude and vulgar Snatcher, maybe he'd be able to stay around a bit longer.

She waved a hand dismissively. "You didn't know. I'd much rather have the memories that I do and not have been there anyway." Riley looked up from her thoughts, eyes wide with curiousity. "And you, what happened at the castle?"

He shook his head. "Not 'ere, beautiful. Too many people to over'ear that."

Of course he was aware of the charges he was wanted for. If someone overheard the topic and figured out he was someone evading the law…acting polite aside, it wasn't hard to put together.

Riley found herself slightly concerned for him. When had the rationality gone out of her head? Was she actually afraid for him? He was a criminal. Plain and simple, his actions had hurt so many lives.

And here she was, worried.

"Besides, I think that's enough depressin' conversation for one night."

She nodded, reaching for her bottle and finishing it off. She was tired, her legs and back killing her from being on her feet all day. She got up, walking over to the bar and paying her bill with a nice tip. Scabior came up behind her, handing his money over the counter as well.

"Let me walk you 'ome, love. I've got 'onest intentions, I swear. I'm tryin' to get used to…"

"Being around people without them cowering in fear?"

"Bein' a part of society again. Which, considerin' the tables 'ave turned on me, ain't been easy."

She sighed, knowing it was a useless battle. She was too tired to bicker.

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><p>They walked to the Alley, Riley tapping the bricks behind the pub with practiced precision. She never got tired of seeing the bricks shift themselves into an opening, revealing a world hidden to those without the talents of magic.<p>

They may not have had magic, but those Muggles knew how to augment themselves. Then again, she grew up with Muggle grandparents on her mother's side. Either way, she praised their talents.

No more words were exchanged between them as they walked up the cobbled street, far less crowded than it was a few hours ago. It looked so much larger without all of those people. And far quieter. Protective enchantments sealed in sounds so that Muggles didn't get suspicious (or think they were going crazy, hearing voices and not finding the source of them since most never saw the Leaky Caldron). In turn, those in the Alley didn't hear the sounds of London, the cars and the sirens.

She looked to a doorway just before the café; the stairwell that would lead up to the apartments. That way there was no traffic through the shop. It was red, with frosted glass that was enchanted to move and create designs every few minutes.

"This is me." She pointed to the door, and turned to face him.

He looked down at her, head cocked to the side.

She wanted nothing more than to invite him upstairs. Toss him into her bed; spend the night doing so many things. But that would end badly. Things like that became messy, fast.

There was one thing that bothered her though.

"Why?" She asked.

"Why what, love?"

"Why did you choose to sit with me? We don't know each other. I mean…on a carnal level, yeah, I suppose we do, but other than that we're strangers…"

He put a hand over her mouth. "Are you always this awkward?"

She stared up at him with large eyes and shrugged a shoulder in reply.

The hand was removed, hesitantly, a finger lingering on her lips for a moment.

"I don't exactly have any…people in my life. I saw you an'…I'm so sick of bein' by myself. I've been tryin' to lay low for months. I'm not one for socializin' much but the…bed-sharin' doesn't really cut it. Somethin' different."

She nodded, fishing for her wand at her hip. "I better…" she gestured to the door behind her.

"Yeah."

They stood there a moment, before Riley gave a small smile and turned around, went up the three steps and muttered _Alohamora_ to open the door.

Scabior turned heel and started to walk away, a finger on his bottom lip as he thought. He wanted to see her again; ever since she had left that morning, something about her had bothered him, and he had hoped she would cross his path again.

And now, all because they had chosen the same place for dinner, they had met again.

It's not like he had a job to go to. He had nothing to do with his time. Maybe spending time with her, as a friend or otherwise, wouldn't be so bad. It'd be something to do, at least.

He turned around and walked back to the door, calling out just in time to catch her closing the door. She stopped mid-motion, sticking her head and upper torso through the opening. He stood on the stoop, just under the small awning over the door. This close, she caught the scent she had missed so much. Although it was devoid of campfire and in its place was a slightly musky scent.

"Can I come by tomorrow?" He kept his face neutral, like he did in the woods for all those months. "'round five?"

Riley thought for a moment; that was the busiest time; last minute shoppers wanted last minute coffee and tea. She had to count her drawer, and send off portions to Gringotts; one for her loan, one for her account.

"I'll be closing shop, but I don't see why not." Damn, why'd she have to be so short compared to him? Her eye level was his sternum, the middle of his chest.

"Good."

The marks he had given her with his ring had left faint white lines on her skin; clearly the metal of the ring had some sort of magical property. As if the memories she had weren't enough, she had to look in the mirror and see a stagger of marks down her front. She had gotten used to the one on her right cheek though, and didn't bother hiding it.

In the dim lighting the one of her face was barely noticeable; but he had given it to her, so he knew where it should be. He placed his hand under her chin, thumb resting on her cheek as he leaned in and kissed the mark. A feather-light touch, a graze of skin. She barely realized it when he pulled away.

"Tomorrow then, love."

He was off her stoop and back into the alley with the speed only a Snatcher could have.

Riley closed the door and locked it with a flick of her wand before slumping against it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Updates will come on Sundays; I know it's only been three days and the updates have been frequent, but I want to start that pattern now. Sundays are the only says of the week I'm actually free of class or work. So they're catch-up days for many things; homework, family, sleep. **

**Again, I love your reviews. I'm glad to have influenced people into liking Scabior, and hell, I'm glad you like how I write his character. I somehow feel like he's not quite to-character, but then again, he's kind of not in his element anymore, either...**

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><p>Riley blew a stray piece of hair out of her face, struggling with the steaming coffee machine. Weeks ago, it began spewing a bright purple liquid instead of coffee, and whistling some Weird Sisters song. She had gotten a new one to replace it, but considering things like that don't just happen, she had to find out why. She blamed the instinct that had gotten her into the ranks of the Aurors, the instinct that made her question everything. She wanted to know why the hell it would be a good idea to put a curse on a frigging kitchen appliance.<p>

"This is what I get for buying it at an estate sale…" She muttered. "Maybe I should turn this thing over to the Ministry and let them figure it out."

She stood from her place on the floor behind the counter, brushing her hands off on her black apron. She replaced her wand in the holster on her hip, the one thing she kept from her old profession.

The small place had begun to thin out, a few stray groups sitting around. She had given the walls a nice cream color, dark tables and chairs furnishing the store. There were a few frames articles from the Prophet, mostly about Potter and the end of the war. Other frames contained a few small portraits she had picked up. The larger sitting area that had a couch and coffee table had a Persian rug (expensive and Muggle, since it was difficult finding carpets that _didn't_ fly in the Wizarding realm).

This peace never lasted long though. She often had to put up with the rush of people coming home and needing a quick cup of coffee or dessert for dinner. It created a very long queue in the last hour of being open.

Riley had already spotted one regular walking through the door. It didn't take long for many of the others to follow.

Basic cups of coffee, shots of espresso ground from magically enhanced beans, chocolate shavings, whipped cream, caramel, foam milk. Drinks that took longer than a minute were always done with a flick of her cherry wood and dragon-heartstring wand, creating a separate line and allowing her to deal with customers in a timely fashion. She nabbed their food orders by hand and fixed their basic coffee orders in the same way.

She had three people left when Scabior walked in around twenty past five. She never expected him to be prompt anyway.

He stood on the line like all of the others. He had replaced his plaid pants some months ago, and today wasn't any different. He wore dark, well-fitting jeans; she felt a flush across her face when she found herself thinking how nice they looked on him.

She finished the orders in front of him, handing a pumpkin pasty latte with a shot of espresso to the last person on the line.

Scabior stared at the menus. There were simple orders; coffee, hot chocolate, tea of all different flavors. Then there were pumpkin pasty lattes, cinnamon-spice chi, other drinks only available behind the barrier of Diagon Alley. She had caldron cakes (homemade, he noted), actual pumpkin pasties, cookies, brownies whose chocolate was derived from chocolate frogs, apples covered in caramel or chocolate. And…ooh, was that cheesecake?

"What would you do it I made a very complicated order?" He leaned on the counter, one hand on the surface, the other in his jacket pocket.

"I would say that you don't seem to have very particular tastes in food."

"Which you'd be a bit right. 'ow 'bout some of those caldron cakes an' an Irish coffee?"

She held out her arms, hands palms up. "Do I look like I sell alcohol?"

He patted his jacket, where an inside pocket held a flask of whiskey. "No. Worth a shot though. I've got some of my own."

She rolled her eyes and set about getting his cakes and coffee. Placing a mug on the counter and a plate holding two caldron cakes, she put the order into the register.

"Two galleons and eleven sickles."

His eyes grew a bit wide. "I 'ave to pay? I-I'm your friend…"

"We've met twice. Once wasn't for conversation. I hardly consider you a friend when I know nothing about you other than your prowess in the bedroom. So if you want these delicious things…" She pulled them back towards her, "you'll cough up the two galleons and eleven sickles."

He pouted, forking over the coins and then finding himself a table.

_The hell…? Did he really expect to get them for free?_ She thought.

Biting into the caldron cake, he watched Riley take out the drawer of the register, taking it into the back to count the amount. He pulled out the flask in his jacket, pouring the Firewhiskey into the coffee.

Scabior couldn't help but think it strange how he was making an effort to see her. He had cut off all of his ties to his previous life in order to stay alive. But she was a link back to it; was that it? He wanted part of the life he'd never get back….?

He hardly ever saw the women he slept with again. There was the long term relationship before his time in Azkaban, but she was killed a year into his sentence. The only exceptions were Riley, and the Knockturn Alley prostitutes. He had been subject to a lot of public slapping (although they never said his name aloud, they weren't stupid enough to involve Aurors in their affairs since prostitution wasn't exactly legal).

Riley came back out from the back office, flicking her wand at the bar behind the counter; the coffee machine emptied itself, mugs cleaned themselves and danced back onto their shelves.

She shut the blinds with swift movements, and turned off the lights in the front of the shop. Making her way back to the counter, which she spelled clean, she nabbed a piece of the cheesecake in the display.

"Come on, you can come upstairs. I have to lock up." She had a finger in her mouth, licking off whatever confectionary thing ended up on it. It wasn't a seductive act; she had her eyes off to the side, focusing on her own thoughts.

He followed her out of the shop and into the Alley, one caldron cake left and a full mug of coffee. She locked the shop door and stepped over to the stoop and the red door, opening it and holding it open for her guest.

"Don't touch anything on the wall to the right of the door inside the apartment. There's a single portrait stuck there from the last owner and it never shuts up if you do. Likes to think you're interested in her or something. Might have been a wife..."

They went up the stairs, the only way to continue on. Rather than going through the door that lead to the apartment right above the shop, she abruptly turned around. She looked at him with slightly wide eyes but an overall seriously expression covered her face.

"If you ever give this," she waved a finger around, pointing up, "location to anyone, namely someone that you used to snatch with, consider yourself as good as in Azkaban. Especially if I get hurt."

"You act like I'd actually let that 'appen, beautiful." He sipped the coffee casually.

"Greyback is still at large. _You_ might not like him and never think of it, but someone else might."

"Righ', well, I'll keep that mind."

"Sarcasm noted and appreciated."

She turned back around; they were facing a small bit of railing that prevented anyone from falling off the landing. The wall up here was plaster and stone, a bit cracked in places. The stones began to shift either up or down from a certain point, leaving a slanted line. A flight of stairs, a landing and another set of stairs slid out, creating a little plaster dust in the process. The small railing in front of them slid to the left and up, elongating itself to create a handrail.

"So now all you have to do it stand here and it'll recognize you now." She began ascending, the wood squeaking in the way only old wood could.

"Wait, so, if its unplott'ble, do the others know you live 'ere?"

"They know I live upstairs. Never ask how I get there; we're all witches and wizards anyway, we all have our secret ways. I mean, outside, this level is essentially attic space. But like most living spaces in this world…"

She tapped the doorknob with her wand, and opened it, revealing the space behind the dark wood door that bore the number 21 in glistening silver.

"…everything is pretty much bigger on the inside."

And she was right. The ceilings were much higher than they looked outside, betraying the outside shape of the slanted roof. There were still skylights, which on a sunny day probably looked wonderful.

It was, for the most part, open. To the left was the kitchen, with counter seats on the other side of the kitchen sink. Behind that, a small dining table, littered with papers. Beyond, a desk and office area with a wall of huge windows; the one wall that belonged to the bedroom lined with books and boxes and picture frames. To the right, a support beam split the huge space leading into a sunken sitting area. The wall that separated this area from the bedroom was also lined with books. Full to the brim with hardcover and softcover bound pieces of literature. He spotted a few titles he didn't recognize; muggle books, he guessed. There was a radio on the small table by the wall of tall windows.

He followed the wall lined with books; the portrait was of a woman in a ridiculous fashion; corset squeezing her waist, powdered wig the size of a hippogriff, and a dress than had way too many bows on it. She was fluttering a fan in front of her as soon as Scabior had even glanced in that direction.

The color of the walls was separated by molding; the kitchen and dining area was a rich cream color, which went well with the dark cabinets. The office was a dark blue, the sitting area a pastel green.

Riley had gone into her bedroom for a moment after putting her cheesecake on a plate on the table. Figuring the kitchen was better than the sitting area for the things in his hands he went and placed them on the counter, giving a glance at the doorway. Closed.

Damn.

He heard the portrait giggle but gave it no attention. He finished his coffee and caldron cake before venturing over to the desk. There were forms for ordering things, letters, pictures. There was a picture of her on the back of a young man who was blonde and smiling. Another frame held Riley, the boy, and another girl. Somehow he got the feeling that didn't end well, even though the trio seemed happy to be in their graduation robes.

Riley came out of her room (she didn't go in there to change, he quickly figured out), and waved her wand at the table, papers sorting themselves.

"You _can_ have a seat, you know. Just no boots on the tables." She said.

"I much prefer standin'. Been sittin' most of the day anyway."

"Just offering."

He sauntered over to where she was in the kitchen, pushing her against the counter.

"'ow old are you? You're young, you can't 'ave gotten real estate in the Alley that easily."

"I was nineteen. Turned twenty in early July. And I'll have you know, no one wanted this place. The entire Alley looked like shit because of the damage from Death Eaters and Snatchers. I haggled in order to get it down to what I could get for a loan at Gringotts."

She shifted, trying to get out from under his weight. Why was he getting all bent out of shape about this?

That familiar desire was back; his body pressing against hers, a feeling she longed for. And he knew it. She could see it in his face, he _knew_ the power he still had over her.

"I just didn't want to be dealin' with a hypocrite. Tellin' me not to go do something when you're welcoming me into your 'ome if you're dealin' in dark stuff or somethin'."

"I'm not." She looked up at him, steel in her eyes. Stupid Snatcher. Leave it to him to think she's automatically a dealer in drugs or dark artifacts or something.

His finger found the mark on her cheek, his other hand snaking under her shirt to trace the large marks. She felt a tingling sensation, whether from the fact that she liked it or because he was the one that made the marks and they reacted, she didn't know. She controlled her breathing as best she could as he leaned in to trail kissed on her jaw.

"Good. 'Cause I'm done with that. I'm a wanted man; I can't be seen with someone likely to get caught for law-breakin'."

"I'm hardly the person to do such things."

He bit her neck, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. He made marks along the column of her neck, holding the neckline of her shirt to the side to make a nice mark in the curve.

"'ow 'bout a little fun, love?"

She didn't reply. She couldn't. Her body refused to obey her. She had wanted this again, and ached for it now. But if this was solely sex-based, there was no respect. She didn't expect a full-blown relationship, but she didn't want to be thought of as a prostitute.

"If that's what you're looking for, go to Knockturn…" Riley arched as the hand under her shirt found another mark.

"And wha' if I want you? And you can't hide that you've been wantin' this, Riley. I see it. That flicker in your eyes, that lust…" He made a movement with his hips, causing her to gasp. "…you _want_ this." He took her jaw with his hand, a bit forcefully. "The other times are always far better than the first, beautiful."

The churning below her belly dominated her thought process, and she closed the gap between them, her lips on his.


	4. Chapter 4

**And I'm falling behind on trying to keep up on writing and updating (my way of saying I need to get cracking on chapter 6 so I keep up). –sigh- I'm also more occupied with this than I am my research paper. Again. I always get ideas when I'm supposed to be focusing on education…**

**The first chapter that brings about the M-rating. It's actually kind of short (it is compared to the unedited chapter five, which is just under 3000 words…) which, well, considering content, I guess makes sense. **

**Oh, and…this will actually come into play later on, as a small detail, a small arc more as a back-story. Last chapter of The Girl in Blue, I mentioned a case that actually has Riley's last name (Trescott) attached to it. That was unintentional; but I'm thinking it actually works out in my favor (think something like Captain America's shield being found in Tony's house in Iron Man 2). I have to figure out how, but it's gonna have something to do with an object in Riley's apartment, and I leave it at that.**

**Thank you all for the reviews, faves, and alerts. Keep me motivated, as always. **

**;) Enjoy**

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><p><em>The churning below her belly dominated her thought process, and she closed the gap between them, her lips on his. <em>

She had her hands resting on the edge of the counter, and was stretching her neck to reach him. His hands, still under her shirt, snaked under her bra. His hands were warm, warmer than her skin. The scars left there gave off the same tingling feeling she had been experiencing before.

She began to shove the leather jacket away from his shoulders, leaving him in a long sleeve shirt and a raggedy red scarf. Her hands ran under the shirt, resting on his chest for a moment before pushing the garment up; silently demanding it be removed.

He humored her and took his hands away from her breasts long enough to let her pull it up and off of him, tossing it somewhere. He yanked at her shirt, tossing it off to the side. Her bra followed suit, the wretched thing landing with a strap on a chair.

Scabior reached his hands down, letting them rest at the small of her back, just above the curve of her bottom, where her jeans began. Riley ran her hands up his torso, over his shoulders, to tangle her fingers in his hair. She reached up and kissed him again, pressing their nearly-bare torsos together. The scarf was soft against her skin, despite being so raggedy.

His hands played with the waistband of her jeans before going further, over her bum and stopping at the top of her thighs. His fingers curved and grasped her legs, pulling them apart before lifting her onto the counter. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling his hardness through the fabric. She gave a moan as he grinded against her for a moment.

Scabior pulled away from her, leaving her lips and moving to her neck. He left bitemarks down the column of her neck, over her collarbone before reverting back to putting his lips to the flesh. Over the top of her breasts, down the space between them. He took her right breast to his mouth, sucking a bit before biting down just hard enough to elicit a hiss of pain. He kneaded the right one as he did the same to the left breast.

Her hands released themselves from his hair, trailing down to his pants. She tugged at the belt, unbuckling it and letting it hang. It was getting unbearable for the both of them. Her arousal was becoming an agonizing ache. He needed to be free of his trousers and inside her again.

His hands fell upon her wand, still in its holster at her hip. He swiftly took it, and pressed the tip to her lower abdomen, casting the necessary spell. He hated doing it; it always broke the flow of things for a moment. He replaced the wand back where he got it, and brushed his hands along her inner thigh.

"Scabior…" She moaned softly, tracing the skin just below the button of his jeans.

"Wha', love?" He trailed his lips along her jaw. "Say it. Wha' do you wan'?"

He was teasing her. He knew she was feeling aroused and very close to losing her patience. But it was so satisfying to have them admit that they wanted it just as much as he did.

She was hesitant, not quite sure how to word what she wanted. She hadn't done anything since their time in the woods, and thus she only had their one time to go back to; this was different. She wanted this. So, so much. No, she didn't just want it. Needed it.

"Say it." He coaxed, finding a spot right under her ear that made her tilt her neck and moan yet again.

"I want you inside me..." She murmured.

"To do wha', love?" She writhed against him as he pulled her to him, grinding against her.

"I want you to…" Riley paused, knowing the word he wanted to hear. She hated the vulgarity attached to sex, and always thought she'd be doing it with someone who actually cared, who wanted her for more than this.

"You know the words, Riley. _Say them._"

"I want you to fuck me." It stumbled out of her mouth before she knew it.

"'appy to oblige."

He grasped her thighs, lifting her with ease. Even though she knew he could carry her, she crossed her ankles behind him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He merely chuckled, half-tempted to faux-drop her but didn't, too occupied with having her against him again.

He made it to her bed, managing to climb onto the mattress and keep a hold on her (or rather, she kept a hold on him). She let go, the soft covers catching her as Scabior captured her lips again. They both began to undo the other's pants, shoving them past the hips, undergarments included. Riley shimmied out of hers, Scabior kicking off his own.

She removed the wretched scarf, throwing it onto the floor. She could make out the marks of Azkaban, several lines, much like a Muggle barcode, and a number imprinted beneath it.

He positioned himself over her entrance, hands on her hips. She moaned as entered her all at once, staying for a moment before he began a rhythm. She had a leg around his thigh, her foot resting at the space between his legs. Scabior stopped his mintrations for a moment, and grasped her hips, keeping himself sheathed within her as he rolled over.

"'ang on, just a change in position. Somethin' different."

He sat up, pushing his back against the pillows that were against the headboard. She was on top now.

She pushed herself up and then back down, getting the rhythm back. Her hands found his hair again, her lips on his. He'd arch up to meet her, and she sometimes brought herself down harder than she meant to, but it was satisfying to the both of them.

She could feel the build-up of something in her lower stomach, different than their time in the woods. She was trembling, close now. From Scabior's expression, he was trying to hold out as long as he could.

"Scabior…" She gasped. "I…"

"Come for me, love."

He grasped her hips and arched up to meet her, thrusting into her one last time. She cried out, moaning his name as a wave of pleasure ran through her, far better than before. He came, muttering her name and kissing her neck.

They stayed like that, sweating and catching their breath before he lifted her from him. She rolled over onto the bed, not sure whether she wanted to go under the covers and fall asleep or simply lay there.

"Much better the second time?" He asked, slightly slurred.

"Mmm…" She somehow managed to stand after nearly falling off the bed. It was a strange feeling for a moment. He watched her walk to the en-suite bathroom, her hips moving loosely and more fluidly than before.

He was right. The times after the first were better. She enjoyed it. A lot. That feeling, that peak, was absolute bliss. It was good, wonderful. Her body kept telling her more, and soon her mind began to follow, wanting anything else but to think.

"I could do that again…" She murmured, loud enough for him to hear. "If you're up to seconds, I'll be in the shower."


	5. Chapter 5

**And this is the start of the actual plot, kind of. Tiny things leading into larger events, and sometimes everything looks better in my head. The point where I'm questioning characterization and making sure I have the plot straight (I didn't, I had events flip-flopped in future chapters, and was about to go to sleep one night and was like "The hell? That's not right at all…"). **

**All of the reviews, favorites, and alerts are always appreciated. : )**

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><p>Things began to even out over the following months. Sometimes he'd disappear for days, simply saying he was heading out somewhere. She knew he'd be back, though.<p>

He always came back.

It didn't help that there was news about Greyback nearly every day in the Prophet. People whispered things, wondered where he was. He was attacking Muggles and Wizards alike; bodies were found in multiple areas with roughly the same time of death, increasing the likeliness of the theory that he was raising an army of werewolves or something.

They tried to get out of the bedroom and simply go grab dinner occasionally. Places out of the way, to try and get away from people who knew what he looked like. There wasn't much talking; sometimes she'd mention something, causing his lips to quirk up. But there was predominantly silence, and they were both okay with that. What was there to really talk about, anyway?

Sometimes she'd wake up from a night they spent together, alone. A reminder that they had nothing extremely substantial.

It wasn't until around the end of November that something clicked.

They had decided on staying in and eating at her place; both of them cooking half of the meal that consisted of pasta and breaded lemon chicken. She knew something had been up. He seemed very occupied, but was attempting to make-up for something. Something he had yet to tell her.

Half-way through the meal, he glanced down at his plate and then looked at her. She was caught off-guard and pulled her head up, looking back.

"What?" She asked, eyes flitting back to her plate before meeting his again.

He licked his lips, brow furled in thought as he looked off to the side for a moment. The words wouldn't come out. He knew them. But they were stuck in his throat in a way he wasn't used to.

"I'm goin' away for a bit. Considerin' 'ow often I'm around the Alley, wha' with the Aurors an' everythin', someone's bound to notice me. I gotta leave London for a while. Weeks, not days."

She was quiet, but understood. If he wanted to stay out of Azkaban, he had to keep moving for a time.

"Of course." She murmured.

He half-expected this reaction, but he thought she'd be a bit more miffed. She wasn't crying, she didn't look upset (although he was well-versed in hiding emotions on his face, so for all he knew she could be hiding it). The words that spilled out of his mouth were the words that always seemed to get any man in trouble with the female variety. He bit his lip before leaning forward, forearms on the table and silverware down on his plate.

"Wha's wrong?"

"What?" She was putting a lot of effort in to keeping her nonplussed expression on her face, he could tell.

"You're not upset or anythin'?"

"Should I be?"

"Are you?"

"Scabior, we don't have an emotional attachment, do we? I mean, we talk. But it always about last year. It's always about who we were camping with, things that happened, the Ministry, Potter. Not to mention we fuck. A huge amount of time that we spend together is physical. We're rolling in bed, shoving things off tables, climbing onto counters. I've had my back against an actual wall more than I can remember. We've spent an entire day messing around, and I still have bite marks and bruises on my wrists from that damn scarf of yours from three days ago."

To prove her point, she rolled up her sleeves, showing green marks from where he had tied her hands above her head to the headboard.

"Wha' are you sayin', exactly? Because we're not always rollin' in the 'ay."

"I'm not saying that I don't enjoy it, because we both know that'd be a lie. But I don't want to be a plaything that you don't have to pay for. Am I happy you have to leave for a while? No. But I'm not bawling my eyes out because it was bound to happen. I don't know how to react. I haven't exactly had the emotional experience and we're not exactly focusing on that level."

Shit. He should have seen this conversation coming. He did find himself asking the question she was beating around the bush about: what were they? She had a point; they weren't entirely emotionally invested (something he would only do if he knew, if he felt something was right about the girl).

And she was right on her being inexperienced on relationships-she could have had a boyfriend, but he had been her first. She hadn't gotten involved far enough, but she knew the order in which things were happening between them wasn't correct.

In any other situation, he'd let his anger out and scare her like he would the others he captured. She was frustrating him, asking for something when she wasn't putting in the effort on her side. But he wasn't a Snatcher anymore and he didn't want to drive her away. Because driving her away meant getting rid of the one thing that gave him a bit of purpose at the moment.

"You wan' to try an' make this work on a level tha's not physical, in other words."

"Yeah."

He only had one actual relationship under his belt, one where he truly cared about her. It had begun very differently, involving teasing. But she had been pretty and clever. She had been killed and he was locked up because no one took his word for it that he didn't do it. Much like Crouch Junior, he was young when he tossed in; eighteen or so. He was nearly thirty now. He was different now, and he wasn't about to let down the walls he'd built up all for some girl much younger than him.

Ten years between them. Not a horrid gap, but not the most ideal.

"We can try, I s'pose. I can't promise anythin', Riley."

She nodded. "Alright."

His fingers dangled his fork loosely at her, "Jus' don't try an' change me. I was never extremely open to begin wit', so don't expect it now."

He caught a small smile on her lips at that.

Usually, they'd end up in bed and he'd disappear before she woke. But he wanted to leave feeling a little frustrated; he'd enjoy it more when he came back to her, and he knew she'd feel the same way.

Instead, he embraced her, pulling her to his chest and trying to remember what it felt like before, what he had done back then with the only woman he had cared for. Warmth. The scent of peppermint and coffee and a hint of vanilla. She fit against him perfectly. He kissed her hair, trying to burn the moment in his mind. A part of him knew he cared, wanted something more than an extension of the life he had as a Snatcher.

She wished him to be safe and sent him on his way with a scarf she had bought earlier. Riley had planned for it be given to him at a later date, but since it was getting colder and she didn't know where he was going, she had run back into her room to get it. The scarf was thicker, made for colder weather, and was green with traces of gold woven into the material.

He smiled to himself later as he brought it to his nose and realized she had sprayed his favorite scent of vanilla onto it.

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><p>He hadn't forgotten how shitty the weather was in November up north. It was colder than he expected, and he'd look out the window of the small cottage and find frost on the grass. It had been weeks since he left London, and it was closing in on December; he'd eventually get a little snow, some hail. Something other than rain.<p>

The place he was staying belonged to a trusted friend of a trusted friend. It was a small place, well into the woods with barriers and enchantments. The owner had decided to flee state-side, and said Scabior was free to use it for a while.

Being this far out, away from people, gave him time to think about anything and everything. Riley being the forefront of many of them, along with how to clear his name, and what the hell Greyback was doing.

Having lived with the monster for months, he knew what he was capable of. Turning young children into werewolves, creating his own clans in hiding and having them continue his mission of biting and mutilating people. Killing for the sake of killing; bloodlust.

The werewolves' claims of wanting equality and being forced to live outside of Wizarding society were rebuked the fact that a large chunk they never actually acted like humans. Even when they weren't transformed, they were still vicious and vile to an extent to which Scabior couldn't even begin to understand.

There were exceptions, as with everything, but Fenrir was the example that people looked at and immediately assumed the worst with every werewolf.

If he could, he'd always be the one to negotiate with the captives. He'd be the one to punish them or coax them into his bed. He knew he was far from an outstanding human being, but Fenrir was something none of them would be prepared for.

There was a village not far from where he was now; he needed supplies, and a good walk. It was a Muggle village, and he wasn't going to chance Apparating when he'd traveled all this way just to remain hidden.

He straightened his thermal, pulled on his fingerless gloves and Riley's scarf. He slid on his leather coat, the single thing he had brought with him from the previous year. As much as he liked the red streak in his hair, it was too identifiable. Much like his beloved plaid trousers.

It hadn't taken him long to reach the small village, a few cars here or there. He nearly got hit by one because he had crossed without a care in the world.

He decided to check out the pub, out of habit. He glanced around, seeing no familiar faces. Good.

He ordered a beer, not feeling like getting shit-faced. Just a drink. It was just past five, some of the patrons coming in straight from work.

Riley would be rushing around and pointing her wand at things and cursing if the coffee machine wasn't doing what it should be. She'd be tired and her hair would be falling out of the quick bun at the nape of her neck, but she'd give a smile when he walked in. Always.

He was busy looking around, taking in the only difference between a place like The Leaky Caldron and a Muggle pub; a lack of moving furniture and flying glasses, when someone slapped him on the shoulder.

"That you, Scab?"

He'd recognize that voice anyway, a slight Irish lilt being all that was left because of years of being out of his native country.

"Davidson." Scabior shook the extended hand, gesturing with the other for the man to sit.

He was just as Scabior remembered; stocky with muscle, wearing a hat with earflaps over close-cut blonde hair. He looked well enough, for someone in the same position as him; running from the law. A part of Scabior didn't like this; what if Davidson worked for the Aurors, and this was some kind of set-up?

"Wha' are you doin' out 'ere?" The ex-Head Snatcher asked, taking an offered cigarette and match.

"Passing through. I'm going to visit my cousin down south. But trying to keep away from Aurors, you know?"

He knew very well.

"What have you been up to?" Davidson blew smoke out of his nose, looking like an angry bull.

"I've been 'idin' 'ere an' there. Was in London for a while, but couldn't stay too long. Not with the Ministry bein' in th' same city an' all."

"Do you have a place I could crash at, in London? Just for an afternoon. I have to meet someone else there, anyway, and I can't afford a room at the moment."

Scabior had gotten rid of his tiny flat as soon as he decided to get away for a bit. No traces. He had given the Muggle back-rent and then some, and packed what little he owned.

Davidson was one of the few Snatchers he had worked with that actually hated Greyback as much as he did. The other men didn't much mind, simply because they had twisted senses of humor. Davidson, a half-blood, had gotten tangled into snatching in order to keep his sister away from the Dementors; she was a Muggleborn, his mother having had an affair with a Muggle.

He knew Riley's hours. She'd be out until nine on Thursdays, the days she usually went shopping. She wouldn't even have to know…

"I've got a…friend o' sorts who 'as a place in Diagon Alley. Fidelus charm, but…I'll show you. You never let me down before."

Which was true; there was no reason to not trust him. They had survived together, a raggedy band of brothers. The camaraderie that came with living with other people in a small encampment for months on end hadn't left them, not entirely. Davidson was good at what he did, obeyed orders and never took action without his say-so.

But Riley…he would be breaking whatever trust they had built. And for her to have used herself as a bargaining chip in the first place, she had been putting a lot of trust into him not killing her, into him not torturing her and humiliating her. Which he hadn't, because there was no need to, not really. She still had walls up, of course, and so did he. But she'd tell him things, about her life before the war or even during-they could relate to some of each others stories simply because they were in similar environments.

He listened, partially because she didn't seem to have anyone else anymore, but because she trusted him enough to talk about things. The war weighed heavily on everyone, and it was not an easy thing to discuss.

It was now that he understood a bit more of what she had been saying. They had a physical connection, they understood each other due to the war, but there was nothing else. No backstory. No knowledge of what Hogwarts House the other was in (he thought it was obvious for him, really). They had a small emotional connection that was more like co-dependency. They needed each other physically, and needed someone to relate to on a level no one else around them really could.

But…surely then she'd understand someone needing a place to stop?

It shouldn't be this difficult. He knew Davidson longer than he knew Riley. She may have been an Auror and have seen things and have been on the other side of the war, but fact was he knew little about her. The man sitting across from him was someone he lived with, someone he had to get to know because of living space.

"Are you sure, Scabior? I mean..."

"Don' 'ave to know. S'long as you don' leave a mess behind, and you touch nothin' tha's not yours."

Davidson gave a slight shrug. They used to do it all the time, back when the weather was absolutely unbearable and they were piss-poor and couldn't get rooms. They'd use the house of someone they had captured for a few days and then abandon it to move on.

"I'm serious, Davidson. Leave no trace."

"I won't. I'm just wondering why you're so pissy about it. This friend…?" A blonde eyebrow rose in curiosity.

"Was never involved on our side. I don't wanna drag 'er into my mess more than I already 'ave."

"Oh? This friend's a she?"

Scabior glared at the man across from him; he was certain, if it were possible, frost would be forming on Davidson.

"Relax, Scab. I'll be careful."

He relaxed his gaze, looking down and to the side for a moment. "When'd you want to 'ead to London,then?"

"Tomorrow."

"We'll 'ave to go 'round eight, then. Apparate near the Leaky Caldron, go from there."

Davidson nodded in agreement, an old habit.

They spent the rest of the evening shooting the breeze, drinking, and stuffing their faces. Just like old times. Too much like old times.

They had Apparated into London with little problem; Aurors were more concerntrated in Knockturn Alley than around the pub and the Diagon Alley shops, but there were still a few around.

Scabior had lead Davidson to the red door, the glass panes set in tones of blue and hardly shifting around. If they were linked to Riley's mood (which would make sense, since she owned the building and had a magical contract of ownership), she couldn't be feeling too well. Was it because she missed him?

He told himself he'd still have to be gone for a little while longer. Just another week or so, and come back a few days before Christmas.

"You 'ave to be out by five. I'm not kidding. She closes shop at five-thirty or so, and comes straight 'ere. Avoid the portrait at all costs." The staircase shifted out and then ascended them, Scabior opening the door.

He pointed to the couch near the office area. "You sleep there. You don't get near 'er bed. You don't steal anythin' and you don't give this location to anyone else."

The men looked at each other. Scabior was being extremely defensive (then again, he protected what was his, Davidson recalled. He'd seen him take the offensive on Greyback over breaking a negotiation on a girl he'd taken claim to).

"Don't make me regret this, Davidson."

The unspoken threats hung in the air as the ex-leader left, leaving the other man to his own devices.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm just throwing this up here because I want to, and because I get the nagging feeling that if I do, I might not be as distracted. Chapter 7's not even close to being finished, but I've got so much to do for school and I need to write papers, not fanfiction at the moment. So this is a treat for you guys, tide you over.**

**I'm not sure if the portion of Riley's backstory makes sense; like everything, it's subject to change. And also, a warning: there's some fluff, especially towards the end. Yeah. I don't even know myself, to be honest. I'm hoping everything except the crack-fluff at the end comes off as a slight evolution of character for Scabior, showing that he's slowly growing to care about Riley...or something. **

**And…a bit more of Davidson and what he's up to. Because it moves the plot along and it becomes a bit clear who he's working for.**

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><p>He had woken a little before five, rubbing sleep from his eyes with a large, meaty hand. He couldn't simply lay here, it wasn't in his nature. He needed to move and he motivated himself enough to walk over to the desk across from him.<p>

His eyes fell upon pictures by the desk, old ones. A trio of teenagers, happy as pigs in a sty. A blonde boy a girl with dark hair and grey eyes.

He had heard a drunken tale from one of the other men once; a girl came to their camp, asking Scabior for her scarf back. Their leader bedded her and sent her on her way with her scarf and a pack of food. She was on the list too, they had said. The little slut.

There was a more recent picture in a silver frame. Scabior glaring at camera, which was obviously being held by the girl, a giddy smile plastered on her face in the picture. Despite his annoyance at the captured moment, the photographed Scabior nuzzled her neck, a gesture that seemed slightly tender for the ex-Snatcher. He would then look up and send the viewer a glare that screamed dominance over what was his.

Davidson was slightly disgusted, but knew there hadn't been a woman to create such an effect on him in many years. For her to give him sanctuary in her arms with nothing but absolute agony to gain, she was either a masochist or there was something else they both had yet to tell the other.

His boss would want to know what Scabior was up to these days. He was considered a coward, but hardly a threat. They'd leave him be. For now.

His hands went for his wand, pointing it at the photograph. Muttering _Geminio_, he created a duplicate, frame and all. Useful information, and no one had to know. There didn't seem to be wards around, except for the Fidelius.

Davidson looked around once more, and then showed himself out, heading into the bustling city.

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><p>Riley was tired, as always, when she finally opened her apartment door. She was in no mood to cook for herself, and had picked up something from a new Asian place in Muggle London, close to the Alley. She had grown up on having take-out once a week with her parents. Her mother always got beef and broccoli, and in truth she hadn't liked it much; she'd decline the offer of a helping every time. But her mother always offered, and Riley would never snap at her for it. Just one of her mother's idiosyncrasies.<p>

The beef and broccoli was on the bottom of the bag, under a pint of roast-pork lo-mien and a tub of wanton soup.

She had settled on the idea of a hot bath, greasy-but-delicious food, and reading for the night. She could go through order forms and bills tomorrow.

As she dumped the bag on the kitchen counter, she couldn't help but feel like something was out of place. No one was here with her, though.

"_Homenum Revelio."_

Nothing.

Suspicion crossed her face for a moment, but she chocked it up to just being paranoid. War did that to people. Being an Auror did that to people. Moody being the prime example.

She shrugged to herself and left the bag on the counter; the heat of everything packed together would keep it warm and she wouldn't have to waste time re-heating it.

Kicking off her shoes as she walked to into the bedroom, Riley went through her drawers and picked out underwear, sleep pants, and a tee shirt. The pants were actually Scabior's, and were far too big for her. But she didn't care. No one was going to see anyway.

Riley placed her clothes on the counter in the en-suite bathroom, looking up at herself in the mirror. Her skin was clear, no circles under her eyes, no marks of unhealthiness. In the garish light above the sinks, the scar on her cheek stuck out like chalk on black pants. She brought a finger to it, and it felt cold compared to the rest of her face.

"Stupid Riley. Stop. Decided not to think about anything tonight, remember?"

She flicked her wand at the claw-footed tub, seated next to a circular window that looked out over the Alley, into London. Water began spewing out of the faucet, steaming. A bottle of scented bubble-bath poured its contents into the water.

She could see the lights of the Muggle city, beautiful against a back-drop of oranges and pinks and purples and blues of sunset. She wished she had someone to share it with. The tub and the sunset.

She caught her own eyes in her reflection, and glared, pointing a warning finger.

Back to the kitchen she went, reaching into the wine rack of the top cabinets and a glass. It wasn't filled; she hardly drank to begin with. But to hell with that. She was going to spend the night alone, why not some wine?

Scabior plagued her thoughts. Was he okay? Where was he? What if he was hurt? What if he was _caught_? The worst was: _What if he's with someone else?_ That one was dominant. It was the pettiest of them, and it was the one that snaked its way into her mind most often. Which was stupid, because if he was with someone else, at least he'd be alive.

It was like the scarf incident all over again. She was starving and needed shelter and she was more concerned about getting her scarf back. Perspective seemed to be lacking in her life.

He could have lied to her. Really, he had no reason to stay with her. It wasn't like she was protection, because she had nothing behind her anymore. No power as an Auror. She was a citizen now. He could have found someone beautiful and shacked up with her and was shagging her brains out for all Riley knew.

Another nagging part of her brain asked why she cared. Maybe she had driven him away with her talk of emotionally attaching. She wondered why she said what she did.

She was clearly emotionally attached already, the way her thoughts were running. What did she want? She had asked herself this so many times. She wanted to know more about him, to an extent. It wasn't her place to ask about his past unless he was willing to tell. She did not want him burdened, but on some level, she did not feel as though she could help him.

Scabior was an emotionally-guarded man. He was bitter. He was angry. He was gentle one second and then rough the next. He'd be crooning in her ear and then hissing and thrusting hard enough to make her cry out in pain rather than pleasure. Consistency? Is that what she wanted?

No one could give her that. It was kind of exciting sometimes, not knowing what to expect.

She simply wanted Scabior. That was the only way she could sum it up. She wanted him in her life. There were moments when he seemed like he was going to say something, something he was remembering. Sad. So sad. It would leave as soon as she he looked at her. It was replaced by a tiny amount of…she didn't dare say _love_. Joy? Hope? It wasn't lust. He was never in the mood when he was remembering things.

The water stopped pouring into the tub, and Riley threw her clothes into a pile by the door. She had forgotten how cold it got in the apartment in the winter. Damn.

She hissed as she stepped into the warm water, but got used to it quickly. She kept her wand on a small table beside the tub, where she had placed the bottle and glass as well. She reached out, pouring a generous helping of the red substance. She looked it for a moment, the light catching it and throwing a red reflection onto the floor before she took a sip.

The last time she'd taken a bath to relax (she preferred using the shower that was situated in an alcove), it had been when she was unable to sleep, some days before he had left. The sun was barely up over the skyline, and she hadn't gotten anything resembling sleep that night. And it wasn't from her bedroom activity with Scabior. Her thoughts were in a thousand different places and sleep was impossible. It took one look at the calendar she kept in the kitchen to figure out why.

Of course. That day. She had picked up that stupid picture, the three of them thrilled and giddy and happy before everything went to shit.

She said nothing; there was nothing written on the day that gave away what it was. She hadn't even glanced in his direction as he sat up, watching her. She simply walked into the bathroom and ran a bath.

She'd been interrupted and opened her eyes to hands running up her calves and Scabior on the other side of the tub, his feet touching hers. She hadn't even heard him. This was the one place they had not been together (the shower was another story entirely), but they made no effort to change that. He had simply stayed silent and gestured to her to come to him.

She laid against his chest, his head on her shoulder, one arm on her leg, the other around her waist. They watched the sunrise from the window, golden light casting a wonderful contrast against white and silver of the bathroom floor and fixtures.

She remembered him once mentioning spending his mornings alone and watching the sun rise when he could. Never said why, but she could see the appeal, and on a small level understand why. She had seen his neck enough times to know the mark of Azkaban. The sun was something he hadn't seen for how long?

She got the feeling that if she were bawling her eyes out, he'd snap at her to get her head straight. He had every right to do it too; no doubt it was in his personality to be bossy, otherwise he wouldn't have been the leader of a band of Snatchers. A part of her wished he would have. She hated the way she felt the past constricting her, mourning for someone she hadn't spoken to before...

She knew nothing about who he had previously dated, why he had the Mark of Azkaban. Scabior could have understood in some way, pieced enough together to figure out she was missing one of them.

As she watched night creep over the city, she drank her wine in silence.

She had come out some time later, the food still warm and the feeling of someone else being there gone. She fell asleep with a heavy tome on her lap, her wine glass and plate empty on the coffee table in front of her.

* * *

><p>It was a week or so later that she had once again fallen asleep on the couch. She felt a weight being taken off her lap, and woke to a hand bookmarking the page and placing it onto the table quietly.<p>

"Mornin' sleepy 'ead."

She was still slightly in the realm of sleep, but was brought back to reality when she finally looked up. Her eyes widened, and she couldn't help but throw her arms around the figure to her left. Much different than when they had seen each other months ago; hesitant, cautious. Now she simply leapt at him like an eager puppy.

He was taken off-guard by her sudden joy, lurching back from the force of her body against his. He gave a quiet chuckle at her enthusiasm, and embraced her tightly.

_She wouldn't be this happy if she knew… _He thought.

But considering her mood before he had left, and the note they had departed on, he was slightly happy to know she was happy.

It also meant she was ignorant of what he had done. Which was good, but he had to stifle the feelings of self-hatred for having betrayed her trust.

_Then again, she gave it so easily, her trust. _

He buried his face in her hair, smelling lavender. Different. He preferred the vanilla.

She ran her hands up his chest, resting underneath the scarf she had given him. Her face was plastered with a stupid-happy grin, as if she couldn't believe he had come back. Of course he would. He always did before.

Her right hand went further up, and she laid her hand on his cheek, thumb grazing the corner of his lips. He had stubble again, not that she expected anything different.

"It's really me, love. You're like a child who's just go' the gift she was waitin' for."

He swooped down and kissed her. He hadn't forgotten what she had tasted like, but it was wonderful to have it again. Her lips, warm against his.

That was as far as he would let it get. The tiny whine that escaped her throat when he pulled away did not escape his ears.

"You're gonna have to wait a bit longer, beautiful. You're the one tha' wanted somethin' more substantial."

He still had that power over her. The power to leave her aching for him, to feel his lips linger on hers. He was just as frustrated as she was, and she knew it. Why not resolve it now? It'd been weeks.

Her facial expression must have given something away. He leaned down, their foreheads touching. "I know, Riley. _Believe me_, I know. But I gave it thought. If I'm tryin' to get back into the world, migh' as well make it worthwhile an' try out the relationship thin' again."

"Really?"

He stole a quick kiss in reply before turning away and raiding her kitchen. "I'm going to make pancakes. Go fix tha' mess you call 'air and get dressed. I was thinkin' we could go 'round the city or somethin'."

"You're one to talk about messy hair." She walked into her bedroom, not bothering to close the door as she undressed and threw on jeans and a long sleeve shirt.

"I'm burnin' your pancakes for that." He had found the ingredients he needed and began pointing his wand at them.

She simply laughed. Riley couldn't do much else.

* * *

><p>They were walking, shoes splashing into puddles, sending droplets to scatter onto the already soaked sidewalk. The park hadn't been a part of his ideal itinerary, which was supposed to be window-shopping. He was going to get her something for the holiday (he had something in place for New Year's, but that didn't cover Christmas). She had done a lot for him, simply by not giving his name up. He could spend a few galleons on woman he was holding to him.<p>

His arm was around her lower torso, loose but possessive. She was huddled in a knitted scarf and pea coat, hunkering down into the collar. Endearing. She looked like a baby bird, fluffing up her down to keep warm.

There wasn't anyone around, really. Some Muggles walking their dogs were the only exceptions.

"Scabior?" She had been hesitant on opening her mouth for a while, conflicted.

He peered down at her, her head back at its proper level and expression contemplative. "Wha', Riley?"

"I…If we're going to do this," she waved a hand between them, gesturing to their relationship, "I want to tell you something."

She had stopped moving, and he was caught like a dog on a chain that held him back, snapped tight. He backtracked a step or two to be on level with her again. She wasn't looking at him, but at the pavement ahead of them, lost, sad. A twinge of remorse.

His thoughts ran a mile a minute. No, she couldn't be pregnant. They'd been careful, very careful about that. Terminally ill? Gave his name while he was gone? Slept with someone else? Wasn't entirely human?

The fuck had that last one come from?

He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. He'd caught one too many of those science-fiction things on the TV at the place he had been staying (simply a cover, in case Muggles came around and went "Where's the telly? You haven't got a telly, are you mad?"). But Scabior flipped it on in mere boredom and he spent the night watching what he thought were stupid things. Infomercials...what the fuck were Muggles thinking inventing half of that crap?

"You can't interrupt, though, alright?" She was focusing on her words, the tale she had to tell him. "I just…I don't want secrets, to keep things from you."

He moved his arm up from her waist to her shoulders, and they began to walk again, Riley narrating.

"It was during the Triwizard Tournament. I was sixteen, a silly little Ravenclaw too wrapped up in the spirit on the grounds to notice anything. I had two people I considered my best friends; Olivia and Sebastian-there's pictures of the three of us by the desk,"

So that confirmed his thoughts that those people meant something to her.

"Sebastian and I were…like brother and sister. We met outside Hogwarts, as we lived close by and our parents knew each other. Olivia was jealous of how close I was to him; she liked him, and he her. He had tried explaining this to her with no avail. She wouldn't have it. I became the awkward third wheel and soon found myself without anyone to be around except my study group.

"Sebastian and Olivia were both Hufflepuffs. So they were always together, even at the end of the day. It wasn't until Olivia approached me at breakfast, without Sebastian, that I thought something was odd.

"She had told me that Sebastian was snooping around, that he thought Moody was a bit odd. I told, 'Well, yeah, it's Moody. He's a bit eccentric, to put it lightly.'

"'No, Riley. That's not what he thinks. He went to go and get some help on the essay that was assigned, something about too vague of a context or not understanding the difference between something. He knocked on the office door, and the sound that replied didn't sound quite Moody-ish. A half-octave too high. He heard bumbling about, a bit of gagging, and then Moody answered the door. So he claims.' She did this weird, huffy bitch stance, like his world should revolve around her.

"'So he's out spying on the professor that's not sitting at the table.' I concluded

"'Yeah,' Her eyes had flickered to the table, where there was no Alastor Moody.

"And it was like you could have cast _Crucio_ on us and we wouldn't have felt it. We had the same thought. Sebastian had this…strange intuition. He could read people, really well; it was a skill he wanted to take with him to the Ministry, work as an Auror with it. He'd be reading you like an open book."

Scabior did not like that idea at all. Someone reading him like that. No. He liked his thoughts and actions to be his own and understood by only him. Occasionally someone else.

"We dashed out of the Great Hall, shoving first years in our paths. We were dashing up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Room, dealing with those bloody stairs up to the tower. Olivia had said she knew a short-cut, but I never trusted passageways in the castle. And considering the two of them left me hanging for months, I wasn't about to trust her word.

"I made it there first, and I wish I hadn't."

She sniffled, wiping tears away with a gloved hand. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want to look pathetic.

"Sebastian was sprawled on the corridor floor, dead. Just dead. Pale. Shocked, eyes wide and jaw slack. I shook him, and he was so cold, Scabior. Like he had been there all night. I had my wand out, thinking I could do something, and Olivia came at the moment when I was trying to revive him, thinking he was only knocked out; I couldn't let myself think my best friend was dead. Denial.

"Olivia screamed and cried, and portraits ran for Dumbledore and we were lucky there was no one else there except the imposter that was Moody and the other professors. They kept it very hush-hush for a while. But that didn't stop the Aurors from coming, from Scrimgeour interrogating the two of us to our wits end.

"She refused to believe that I hadn't done it. I had my wand, but Sebastian's was the one that was used to kill him, lying next to his body. I had picked it up to identify it, stupid me. I had motive, supposedly; I was left out, jealous of the time my friends were spending together without me.

"My voice was drowned out by the Ministry ensuring everyone that everything was fine. My cries of innocence meant that the only other person capable of having done the act was in fact a Death Eater. People saw this; they read the article about Crouch Junior in the Prophet, and put two and two together once news got out another student died on campus that year. If people weren't believing Harry Potter, how were they going to believe me? Fudge refused to accept it, of course. Scrimgeour was keen on letting me go; it was him, ultimately, that got me into the Aurors after graduation. I was acquitted after the battle in the Ministry, once Scrimgeour went into the Minister's office-there was no evidence against me, nothing substantial. I owe that man, may he rest in peace."

She stopped talking; her tears had stopped a short while ago. She looked up at him. Puffy eyes, red cheeks.

"Wha' 'appened to that girl tha' didn't believe you?"

"Dunno. Don't really care, to be honest. Bitch was my best friend and put her dead boyfriend before me." She smiled a wry, self-mocking smile.

Scabior stopped walking, and they faced each other. He couldn't help himself, he ran his hands into her hair, nuzzling his nose to the top of her head. He wouldn't be doing this if this silly woman hadn't done something to him. He hadn't felt this way in so long.

"That's why I couldn't sleep that night. That day was when I found him. Early December."

He understood it now. Her restlessness. Her decision to be Auror. Why she preferred to be the only working on the case rather than in the field. She was afraid of being hurt, of seeing people she knew dead. The war had enhanced that for her. It ended up with people she knew dead. No wonder she left her post.

"C'mon, let's go grab a bite to eat," he murmured into her hair, kissing her forehead right after.

He led her out of the park, his arm back around her.

* * *

><p>"Why am I doin' this again?"<p>

It was the fifth time he'd asked that question. Her attitude had become perky, and considering their conversation the other day, it was a change of pace. An annoying, frustrating change of pace.

"Because it's fun! I love baking without magic. And besides, they're cookies. Who doesn't love cookies?"

"I don' think I do anymore."

She was pushing a shape of a bear into the rolled-out dough, her face dusted with flour that continued into her hair. She wore an apron, caked with batter and more flour.

He was trying to get the shape of a gingerbread man to come out without the use of magic. It was always missing a limb by the time he went to move it onto the tray.

"There's too much hassle wit' this. I can't get a single one to turn out decent."

"Then do me a favor and simply roll out the dough, alright? I can't have customers thinking someone's been biting arms and legs off."

He grunted, balling up the scraps and rolling them out again. He too, was covered in flour and looked quite daft.

"You can frost them, though." She gave a grin, and he rolled his eyes. "Please? That's easy, I swear. It's just like putting butter on bread."

"You said this was easy too and I'm shite at it."

"Because you're too used to magic. Why do think all my stuff tastes like it does?"

"'Cause you cheat."

"Because I do it this way. There's a little more toil and effort put in. Some things need magic, sure, but I avoid it if I can."

"You're so cheesy sometimes."

"I know."

They frosted the cookies hours later, which he had gotten the hang of quickly enough. He was trying to perfect a polar bear, putting a little face on it. He was thrown off when something wet and sugary hit his nose.

"The hell…?"

He looked up and found Riley holding a spoon, holding the position of having just flung some icing at him. She had a smile on her face; amused at his deadpan expression.

Scabior raised an eyebrow, and threw some of the candy-covered chocolates that were supposed to be the noses. This continued, eventually involving running around the apartment and icing going everywhere except on the cookies.

There was more icing on the walls than on them. Eventually they stopped, having run out of icing and Riley, while happy, was faced with the sheer amount of cookies still left unfrosted for the next day.

Scabior swiped a bit of frosting from her cheek, licking his finger like a child. He kissed the corner of her mouth, under the pretense that she had more icing there.

It became a kiss full of fervor, an awakening of something that she had forgotten about. Regardless of how messy they both were, they stood there, lips being bitten and tongues fighting.

He pulled away at her moan, fighting himself. Her eyes pleaded at him, her hands tugging at his waistband.

"A little longer, pet. Just a little longer."

"But…"

"No buts. It's good to be a little frustrated. You'll enjoy it more. We spent too much time doing that, it'll get old. You said it yourself."

"I didn't mean I wanted to give up sex."

"Just a little longer. A week."

"You're not going to give me a reason why?"

"I can't. It'd spoil everything. I never divulge my plans."

Her wide, pleading eyes narrowed into a sultry gaze. "Not even if I…" She nuzzled his neck, for he had removed his scarf and coat so they wouldn't get dirty, and kissed his flesh, sucking. He shuddered at her touch; she hadn't been like this before. He was the one that used pleasure as torture. Her hand touched the flesh just below his waistband, reaching for him.

"Riley…" He growled. No. He wanted this, they both did. Sexual frustration between two people that hasn't slept together in a while and needed the other like they needed air was a bad situation. It felt as if they'd be throwing everything away in favor of the carnal again.

And while he loved that, loved that she was becoming comfortable enough with him to do this to him, he wanted more. She made him comfortable, disregarded the horrible things he had done. So beautiful, outside of the sheets.

His hand snapped around her wrist, her lips stopping instantly.

"I would love this more than anything right now. But we can't. I…I just want you to wait a week. I can't tell you why, but let's just say my plan is putting me out of my comfort zone a bit because I haven't actually done anything like this in a long time. So just… trust me when I say it'll be worth it."

She sighed, knowing she would not win this time. He pulled her wrist, and let go when her hand was free of his trousers.

"Go shower, you look you got into a fight with a powder bottle," She murmured.

He could barely bring himself to smile, conflicted at his own words. He turned and walked into the bedroom.

She waited until she heard the shower running to clean up the apartment and finish the cookies.

She walked him to the front door of the building, and their usual goodbye of a kiss felt strange, a bit forced out of habit. Disappointment emanated from her, with a twinge of anger at him for not leaping at the chance when she was giving herself so willingly. But if he had a plan for the two of them to do something, a week being New Year's Eve, then she could wait. She'd waited weeks, if not close to a month. What was one more week?

They broke apart, Scabior's hand resting on her cheek. This wasn't like him. What the fuck was wrong with him? Any other time, he would have grabbed her thighs and pulled her up to him. He would have laid her on the floor and fucked her brains out. They would have spent the night on the floor, against a wall, on a table, in the bed, in the shower, so many different ways. He was denying himself the thing he enjoyed most.

He knew he was right to. It'd get too old if that was all they did. The surprise he had in mind had been something he had done weeks before getting arrested, with the woman he had loved so long ago. He wanted to it be enjoyable, and if they didn't let those frustrations build up, it wouldn't be the same, he figured.

He kissed her forehead for good measure and hesitantly took his hand away from her face, walking into the Alley and into the cold winter night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Smut ahead. This chapter was supposed to be vastly different, actually. Again. But whatever. This worked much better; the other direction was heading into OOC-Land and I wasn't having it.**

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><p>Bells rang in the distance. The Alley was deserted, the occasional person walking the cobblestone path. Holidays were usually very quiet here; it was the day after that made everyone crazy. Returning things, wanting exchanges. Just like Muggles. Only the Muggles tended to trample people (Black Friday? Just name alone gave an ominous feeling to Riley).<p>

It was peaceful. Wonderful.

Not much snow, if any. That was what she loved about Hogwarts, being north enough to experience the traditional winter everyone else thought of.

She laid in her bed, snuggled deep in the blankets. She had no presents to really open; the glee of Christmas had sort of left with Sebastian those few years ago. And then with Voldemort's return and everything, Christmas just seemed like a formality. It couldn't be celebrated. Hell, she had missed last Christmas because she'd gone into the woods.

She didn't have the heart to see her father today. She loved him, but it wouldn't be the same. Her mother had always cooked dinner the old-fashioned way, and sometimes relatives stopped by. Little cousins, curling up in her lap as they watched some Muggle show involving a man who traveled though time and space in some weird box that seemed like it had an extension charm on it. Perhaps tomorrow, then. A good reason to close shop.

Riley managed to keep herself occupied while waiting for Scabior. They had agreed on one present each.

His was the small little green box sitting under the pathetic excuse for a tree she had gotten. It was decent size, but nothing compared to the one she used to have at home. That one used to skim the ceiling, and take up most of the corner with its fat branches.

Scabior had let himself in, finding her standing in the kitchen, the kettle on for tea. She was thinking; that much was clear to him. She hadn't noticed him come in, and she tensed at his touch as he drew her into him from behind.

He kissed her temple and let her go, knowing it was better to let her sort them out herself.

She had brought two mugs over into the living room, placed them on the low table and sat down on the floor. Riley plucked the small box from under the tree, holding it out to the man across from her.

He opened the box to find another one, a wooden box with a seal of a watch-maker in the Alley. He was almost as old as Ollivander, and was damn good at what he did, too. The dark cherry-wood box held a silver pocket-watch. The front had the head of a stag on it, the antlers branching off and curling in elaborate patterns. The face of the watch itself was white with black roman numerals. Very simple.

"I didn't know what to get you. I went with something practical. Could always use a watch…" She shrugged.

He ran his thumb over the front, over the stag. She must have gone with his ring for inspiration.

"Not jus' a watch. A fob watch." He dangled it from the chain, the light catching it for a moment. He leaned over and kissed her, the gesture ending as abrupt as it began. "Thank you, Riley."

Putting the watch back in its box, Scabior reached into his pocket, fishing for something. Damn, why'd it have to be so small? He found what he was looking for, cupping his hand over it as he placed it on the table.

He took his hand back and a golden fox, tiny and swift and elegant, danced across the coffee table. It left a streak of golden light behind it as it darted around the books she had left out, around the mugs like a horse doing barrel racing.

It wove itself around Riley's right middle finger, where it remained motionless, creating a ring. Its head and tail were the only details left of the tiny creature, running in an eternal circle.

"'s enchanted wit' a _Locomotor_ charm. It'll animate itself when you want it to. I also tampered wit' it to find me, if you're in danger or somethin'…"

She looked at him, confused. Why would she be in danger? Greyback wasn't after him, as far as she knew. And she hadn't committed any crimes. Well…harboring a fugitive, but no one had found him yet…

The fox unwove itself, tiny golden paws treading back across the table, looking haughty with its tail swishing as it walked.

She smiled, feeling like a child as the fox heeded her call and rested on her finger again.

"Strange how we both chose woodland creatures…" She murmured. "Why a fox?"

"I don' like wolves all that much."

* * *

><p>She had come upstairs after work on New Year's Eve, only for her vision to go black. No. She wasn't unconscious, she was breathing, she was aware of herself and her surroundings still. What…was she being kidnapped? Her wand was in her hand in seconds, pointed to whatever threat was around. The point came in contact with something, slightly soft but solid.<p>

Her heart picked its own beat, until she heard Scabior's voice in her ear. "Love, stop pointin' that a' me."

She lowered her wand, rolling it in her hand. She still couldn't see. It drove her nuts, scared her. She relied so much on her sight.

"Why can't I…?"

"It's temporary, nothin' to worry 'bout."

He had charmed her vision for a brief time in order for her to focus on her other senses, on sound, on touch, on smell. She would have no choice, and it would drive her a bit crazy, to feel him and not see him.

He led her by the hand, and she had never noticed how large his hands were. Rough. Warm. His hand nearly engulfed hers but somehow she was okay with that. It worked. Just like how they always seemed to fit together, sex aside.

He had led her into the bedroom, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, or so it felt. His hand had left hers and she couldn't feel his breath on her, no hands, no indication of his location.

Until there were lips on her neck, a chest against her back, hips against hers. Hands grasped her hips, keeping her to him as he enjoyed her flesh. She instinctively arched into him, a shudder running down her spine. Ooh, she'd missed this so much.

He buried his nose into her hair, right near her ear. His hands crept from her hips, one up to her breasts, the other teasing the skin right below her waistband.

Her scars tingled again at his touch, his fingers massaging the skin, kneading, sometimes grabbing a bit too hard for her liking.

The other hand undid the button and zipper of her jeans, fingers grazing her skin until they found what they were looking for. He teased her, playing with her flesh some more. He nipped at her neck as he entered her with two fingers, eliciting a pleasure-filled cry. He withdrew from her and then entered again. She writhed against him, mewing and moaning. She was trembling, finding it hard to stay on her feet as she nearly came. He had withdrawn his hand, leaving her unsatisfied.

Scabior spun her around, her vision returning. She blinked, looking up into light-blue eyes that glimmered with unresolved lust, and kissed her hard and full. Unrestricted. They held nothing back as they tore at the other's clothes, reveled in the feeling of flesh on flesh. She trailed her lips from his neck down his torso, a hand running lightly over his length. Her hands found his hips, and she hesitated for a moment before continuing where she had left off in their previous heated moment. His fingers found themselves once again tangled into her locks as her tongue and lips teased him, coaxed him the way he had teased her. She pulled away when he had been close, and a growl escaped his throat as she worked her way back up to his lips.

"Tease." He hissed, tossing her onto the bed and nipping at her breast as he laid on top of her.

"And you aren't?" She replied, tugging at his messy excuse for a ponytail.

He didn't reply, only wrapped an arm around one of her legs and supported himself with the other. He positioned himself, entering her as their eyes met. She usually closed her eyes, out of pure pleasure, out of normalcy since they were usually kissing. She moaned, having missed how it felt to have him. He found a rhythm, trying to last as long as possible. It hadn't even really been that long, but he had missed this, missed Riley arching up as she moaned, knowing it was him doing that to her, causing her that pleasure.

The familiar tension was building, and she wrapped her arms around him tighter as she found herself trembling, so close.

"Look a' me, Riley," He whispered, giving her bottom lip a quick nip, like a pup. "Look a' me."

Her grey eyes found his, icy blue that sent no shivers of cold down her spine. He thrust one last time, causing her to cry out louder than before as she came. He moaned her name, but they never broke the contact, never looked away from the other, never closed their eyes in ecstasy.

He let out a heavy breath as he laid his forehead against hers, sweat beading down their faces. He withdrew, but stayed on top of her, the both of them catching their breath.

They eventually had curled up under the covers, Riley curling up and resting her head on his bare chest. His arm was around her, holding her to him and almost protecting her, with his other hand teasing stands of her hair between his fingers. Their legs were tangled together.

Scabior never wanted this to end. Having Riley, be it in bed or just there. A companion. He adored the little things about her. Never wanted to let her go or be hurt by anyone or anything. A year ago, he was a bitter, horrid Snatcher running through the woods and thinking only of himself as he turned in people for money to continue living. And now, here he was, curled up in bed with a beautiful woman and hiding from the law he had yet to answer to. Some would have said he had gone soft.

He didn't care.

He couldn't go through it again. Losing the woman he loved because he had fucked up. He couldn't go through Azkaban again. He had told her he was done with being on the other side of the law and he meant it. He couldn't hurt her, couldn't hurt himself by landing back behind bars and dementors. He wanted to stay with her, be with her. Fuck the near-decade between them. Some distant part of him saw a future with her. He wanted to live. He didn't want to have to sneak around like he did because he didn't want to be caught.

He murmured words he hadn't even thought of in a little over a decade, amending the name at the end to match the woman in his arms. "I love you, Riley."

He had made his choice.

* * *

><p>Large hands held the frame given to him, nails more like claws now. His former <em>leader<em> holding that stupid half-blood witch in his arms, looking smug and protective.

Oh, he remembered her. The stupid girl who got off because she fucked Scabior. He felt it necessary to ration out some of their group's food for her. To make sure she survived.

Greyback would have made sure her last breath was right after he pleasured her and ripped her to shreads.

The large man's eyes fell back upon Davidson, waiting with the infinite patience of a subordinate.

"He's only a threat if he opens his mouth. Do nothing but keep an eye on his movements, and on the girl. Nothing else. We'll play it by ear."


	8. Chapter 8

**And here's the next chapter. It may have a few errors; I attempted to write through all the way to the end of what I had in mind to happen here. And I'm tired. And I couldn't bear to come back to the second part (chapter 9) and be like "What was supposed to happen?" **

**But you're only getting 8 for now.**

**I may or may not go back and fix a few things-you can tell where I just pushed through and got a basic idea down, but whatever. Means I can focus on my Art History stuff knowing I have something to put up here next week or so...  
><strong>

**Thank you, lovelies, for the reviews, adds, etc. :)**

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><p>She found herself curled up, chin deep in hot water. It was the second thing she had set her mind to when she woke up, tangled in the blankets. The first had been to take in the fact that Scabior had, for once, stayed through the night. She had woken to being ensnared in arms that usually weren't there, holding her to a warm chest.<p>

Riley had run a hand down his bare skin, looking at how peaceful Scabior looked in his sleep. His hair had decided to fall out of the ribbon that had held it at some point the previous night, and was falling over his shoulder, tickling her nose. His blue eyes, usually carrying light shadows under them, were closed but still carried traces of light shadows. He still wasn't sleeping properly. She never really noticed how rugged his face was, how much older he seemed at a glance.

She blamed Azkaban, but in truth she didn't mind how old he looked. Nor did she care about the age gap between them. A part of her knew she should be out with other guys, more her age. Ones that had been on her side of the war. But there was no war now and she failed to see how it mattered anymore. Riley could never stand the men her age. More boys than men, she always thought.

Holding her breath, she dipped her head under and brought it back up, slicking her wet hair back out of her face. She could hear Scabior in the kitchen, just barely. The patter of bare feet, the clinking of a mug from the cupboard, the owl tapping the window and delivering the Prophet. Normal sounds. As if they truly belonged there.

* * *

><p>He had found it strange how natural it seemed, waking up to her looking at him. She had pecked his lips, grabbed some clothes and darted into the bathroom to wash, leaving him to his thoughts again.<p>

Scabior had set a mug of tea down on the table, and retrieved the newspaper from the pesky barn owl. It nipped at his finger, demanding a treat. It had gotten one and was sent on its merry way in the cold morning.

He stared at the headline, bold letters telling of another, far more vicious incident.

Greyback and his men had slaughtered nearly an entire village. No one had been spared. Bodies were mutilated; bite marks riddled into necks and shoulders and arms. Children laid where they had been killed, wide eyes open and blank. Blood stained the snow, ruining the charming quality of the village. Some of the victims had tell-tale signs of having run in with Greyback themselves. Some women had bitemarks along their inner thighs, obvious trauma, necks barely still attached. The article skirted around the messy details, but he knew. Greyback was brutal when it came to women. There was only a picture of the village, and a mug-shot of Greyback, no pictures of victims.

A flicker of fear ran through Scabior. If he went through with his plan, if Greyback learned of Riley's existence…

He threw the paper on the table, a loud slap running through the silent apartment. Fuck. Shitfuck. There didn't seem to be any words in creation that summed up how he felt.

He was not going through it again. He couldn't lose her because he got himself locked up or received the Kiss. But he couldn't lose her because he had opened his mouth, either.

The door had opened silently, and he wished he was as calm as she looked to be. He stood in the doorway, pajama pants slung low on his hips.

"Riley?"

Her eyes snapped open, finding the source of the sound.

He looked so…nervous. Confused. Like he was carrying a huge burden and needed to tell someone.

"Scab…" Her tone said what she couldn't; he had interrupted her thoughts when she had wanted to be alone, like a child who wanted to stay in bed later than possible.

"No, Riley, it can't wait."

He ran a hand down his face as he sauntered over to the tub, waving his wand and conjuring up a small stool. He sat down, elbows on his knees and was silent, thinking of his words. She was watching him, trying to figure out why he had interrupted her peace.

"I wanna turn m'self in."

Her expression said it all.

"Are you-"

"Yeah, I'm sure, love. I…'member when I said I was done wit' tha' life? I mean, I miss it, don' get me wrong. But it's no' possible for me to get it back and I meant wha' I said…I can' 'ave a repeat of the past again…"

He wasn't telling her everything, Riley knew that. The way he was staring off, hands resting right under his eyes and over his cheeks.

"I don' even know 'ow to explain it." He whispered.

She lounged back, arms resting on the rim of the free-standing tub and settling in for a long story. "Start from the beginning."

Scabior sighed heavily, the mark on his neck itching as he dug up old memories that always worked their way into his dreams.

"I 'ad this girl, years ago. Beau'tiful. Clever. Extremely ambitious. A Gryffindor. I was a Slytherin, obviously. I would tease 'er, but it got to be too much, and by fifth year I 'ad plucked up the courage to admit to 'er I liked her. 'er friends 'ated me, 'ouse prejudice and all tha'. But we'd worked it out. We'd moved in together after graduation, me goin' to Auror trainin' and 'er 'eadin' to St. Mungo's to be a mediwitch.

"When I was 'round eighteen or so, I 'ad gotten in deep wit' some of the wrong people. Wizards 'oo had gone into the careers of livin' off others, stealin' and nabbin', and makin' a hierarchy of 'oo was the better criminal. It's 'ard to pay for things when you're only paid for when you go into the field, you know that pretty well. One job led to another, an' I found myself shirking trainin' to sleep and convincin' 'er I'd get out of it.

"I came 'ome one night and found her laying on the floor, blood everywhere, clothes gone. Aurors arrived shortly after and they refused to believe I didn't do it. There was no evidence as to 'oo had done it and they needed to close the case.

"She 'ad been killed because I tried to get myself out of the mess I created."

Scabior closed his eyes, hands running through his hair for a moment before he looked back up at her. "I can' 'ave it again. I won' let 'arm come to you because of my choices. I know stayin' quiet sounds like more of an option, but I can't 'ide anymore. I can't. I wanna be able to 'ave a life wit' you wit'out 'avin' to worry that I'll be yanked away. I couldn' do that to you."

She was silent, looking at him with a strange understanding. It was brief, and gone as her thoughts collected themselves. "Do you have anything the Ministry can use?"

"Names. Potential spots Greyback could be 'idin'. We used some of them occasionally, when we 'ad to. I've 'ad it with 'is name in the paper."

Riley nodded. "You say nothing. Let me see if I can pull some strings. I know the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'll see about getting her to meet with you. See if she'll settle it without a trial, a deal of sorts."

Scabior blinked. "You're takin' this far better than I thought."

"It hasn't set in yet."

She looked away, out the window and into the grey sky outside. A silent message that told him to get the hell out of the room. Scabior brushed his thumb on her hand before retreating back into the open living space.

Riley heard the door close, and dunked herself into the now lukewarm water. She had only felt the overwhelming urge to break down twice in her life, and she hated it. The burning behind her eyes, the need for tears to free themselves and run down her cheeks. The urge to let out a strangled cry. But she stayed silent. She had said she would handle what she could, and she had to be strong.

The Ministry, while under new management, would not treat a Snatcher who's considered a war criminal fairly. This was not good.

Her hopes were placed in the one who had taken her case only a few years ago. Scrimgeour was gone, and she doubted he would have treated Scabior as fair as he had her. But…perhaps…

She had spelled herself dry, thrown on a presentable outfit, and embraced Scabior longer than intended before she darted out of the Alley and into London.

* * *

><p>The Department of Magical Law Enforcement looked the same as she remembered, at least the layout did. It seemed far less dreary than it a year ago. Brighter. She saw familiar faces, sporting scars large and small, permanent injuries of sorts. She gave a smile and a nod, looking so out of place wearing a pea-coat rather than business robes.<p>

A secretary sat outside the office, quills scribbling furiously of their own accord. The young blonde, who must have graduated Hogwarts after her, was sorting through files, looking quite agitated.

"Excuse me, is the Department Head in?" Riley asked, clearly startling the other woman.

"She's tied up at the moment. In case you didn't read the paper this morning…" The waspish tone was something she had gotten used to in serving people.

"Actually, I didn't. But I'm aware of the situation. I'd be in the same position as the rest of you if I had come back after the War. Tell her Riley Trescott is asking for her."

She received a puzzled look in return, but she stopped what she doing, knowing Riley wouldn't leave until she got an answer.

There was a quiet conversation, and the blonde opened the door further, gesturing for her to enter the office.

A dark-haired woman sat behind a desk, the same one the man who had taught them much about being Auror had sat behind. She looked thinner than Riley remembered, and wondered if it was the job or having been unable to regain whatever she had lost while on the run. Green eyes looked up at the younger woman, still as bright as she recalled them being.

Riley couldn't think of anyone better to have taken this post while Kingsley was Minister.

Audrey Kavanagh.

Riley found it horribly amusing that the man that was supposed to be Audrey's father-in-law had worked in the office she was now in charge of. Not many remembered the shock of Crouch Junior being unveiled as a Death Eater.

That same Death Eater was the only reason Audrey was alive to take the post. Tried and found guilty, given the Kiss and sent to Azkaban for the rest of his days.

Riley couldn't have that fate for Scabior.

She had been the one working Riley's case when Scrimgeour found it to be too much. She had trusted the girl, believed her. Had said if she ever needed anything to go to her.

She hoped the older woman remembered that promise.

"So, what can I do for you, Trescott?" Hands put down the quill and took up the wand instead, twirling in her hands.

"It's a multi-layered problem, for lack of better terms." Riley took a seat, not trusting herself to stand. "I…If I knew someone that wanted to turn themselves in, but had information regarding Greyback…reliable information, first source stuff…"

"Turning themselves in implies they're wanted. You've been consorting with criminals now, Riley? Someone associated with Fenrir Greyback, no less?" Audrey wasn't shocked. Nothing, no facial expression, no tones, indicated she was surprised. "What had you gotten yourself into?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. This is strictly…can I get you to meet with him? Make a deal?"

"It's…if he's wanted, the whole Wizengamot have to deal with that. And there's a waiting list for trials, Trescott."

Riley cringed. She'd been afraid of that.

"Please, Kavanagh. There has to be a way. I shouldn't have been allowed to be Auror, but my record was wiped. There has to be a loophole. You're in charge of Greyback's case. He can offer names, locations. It's _something_, because you clearly don't have anything to go on, now do you?"

Audrey sighed. She couldn't help but wonder why Crouch Senior had loved his job so much. Even Scrimgeour. She just found it fucking tedious and stressful.

"Alright. I'll listen."

The younger woman nodded, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Can I bring him in without there being a huge fuss?"

"If he's easily recognized, no. Riley, who…?"

"Let's just say he had a lot of power over Greyback last year."

Audrey's eyes went wide. "No. Riley. He's still got a sentence to _finish_, never mind what he's wanted for now."

"He's your only shot of getting a lead." She held her arms out to her sides, palms up, in a gesturing that said it was up to Audrey.

The Head of the department sighed. "Bring him in tomorrow." As an afterthought, she said, "He must truly be something if he wants to cross Greyback."

* * *

><p>Scabior did not like having people look at him. Stares. Glares. He wasn't even dressed as he had been and people still recognized him.<p>

Riley had a strong hold on his sleeve, dragging him into the Auror Department. They knew her enough. It looked legitimate, an old Auror bringing in a wanted man.

The meeting had consisted of glaring, crudely drawn maps, a quill jotting down a transcript of the conversation, and more glaring.

Audrey had decided this information was too valuable to not use. And Scabior was too valuable to lose as well. They had struck a deal; he gets his name cleared as long as he and a small team of Aurors rounded up Greyback's men, and any others still on the run from the Ministry. Kingsley needed to sign off on it, but that was Audrey's problem now.

He was a Snatcher again, a thrilling notion that made his stomach drop. So much for spending time with Riley again.

"'ow's this gonna stay out of the papers?" Scabior asked. "'ow will I not be dragged back in 'ere by someone 'oo doesn't know about this?"

"This isn't staying out of the papers, Mr. Scabior. It's impossible."

He shot a look to Riley, who looked back at him. He was more caught off-guard by the 'mister' part, but the both of them knew what it meant. It meant Greyback finding out.

"No, you…don't understand. If Greyback or 'is men get word I am the reason they're…I mean…"

"We'll leave your name on the roster, make it look like you're still wanted. We won't name-drop in the article, we'll call you Smith around the Ministry. Riley'll get two of my men for round-the-clock protection."

The matter was settled, because Audrey had pretended they stopped existing. Scabior, frustrated but happy to have a bit of freedom back, left first. Riley hestitated, wanting to say something to the other woman, but not quite sure what.

"He's doing it for you. I'm quite shocked, but it's so obvious. The way he looks at you." Audrey looked up from signing the paper in front of her to look at Riley. As if to tell her she was lucky that he was able to change. Or at least try.

* * *

><p>Davidson had watched for weeks. She had the same routine. Open the shop at the same time six days a week. Close at the same time six days a week. She'd kiss Scabior goodnight, the way a lover would. Some nights he didn't come out. Some nights they'd go out, and he'd follow them.<p>

Greyback had snarled at seeing the headline that competed with his, proclaiming someone had been given a deal with the Ministry for information regarding Greyback. Other Snatchers or war criminals were said to be given the same option now. A dirty little business, but they needed the man power to go after the werewolf and his men.

It was not hard to figure out it had been Scabior. Anyone else who knew the locations were his men through and through.

Azkaban was filling up with the strays that had been in other hideouts. Even personal homes were raided.

A dent was finally being made in the reign of terror Greyback had managed to create. Word had gone around that a team was going after a den in the north, and some bloke they called Smith (they couldn't have given him a name with a different starting letter at least?) was to head that team. He didn't know the exact location, but knew the relative area. He'd be away for a while. Leaving little Riley all alone.

Davidson had given him a schedule that Scabior's toy followed, with little variation. She had two Aurors at her building, but they would be easy to overpower with a simple snap of the neck. Perfect. That stupid man had been asking for it. Turning over a new leaf and crossing Fenrir Greyback in the process was not something anyone wanted to do.

He smiled viciously, revealing sharp yellow teeth. He couldn't wait to bury them in her flesh.

* * *

><p>Riley climbed the stairs to her apartment, getting a feeling of déjà vu. It was November all over again. Scabior had been gone for days at a time, a week at most, trying to keep his freedom by helping the Ministry.<p>

She was worried, always. Especially now. He had done all of this because he wanted to be with her without sneaking around, without fear of being locked up. He wanted something different, what he could have had and never did.

Riley couldn't live with herself knowing he would have gotten killed because of her. Because all he wanted was for her to be safe.

She hadn't noticed that the two Aurors were not in their usual spots. Didn't notice she hadn't seen them at all.

Normally, she would have waved her wand, illuminated the space and gotten to work on dinner. She flicked her wand, but nothing happened. No lights. The hell was going on? Light was coming from the windows, but not much.

"_Lumos_."

The top of her wand lit up, revealing a figure in front of her. A hulking form, much larger and wider than Scabior. She dared look up, finding a face with grizzly stubble, a wide, sick grin with sharp yellow teeth. His eyes seemed to glow in the wand-light.

She was too scared to move. Her mind wasn't working right. She couldn't comprehend what was going on. She had backed herself against the wall, the massive man crushing her against her and sniffing her hair. "You do smell wonderful, pretty one."

"Greyback." She muttered, her mind finally starting to clear.

She received no reply, only a low growl that belonged to an animal. Her fears were confirmed, and she felt her stomach drop to her knees.


	9. Chapter 9

**This contains non-consensual sex, and is a bit dark and violent. You have been warned. **

**Posting this simply because I haven't gotten that many reviews in so short of a time. You guys are amazing. This whole week is a true test of how much stress I can take, and my only writing right now should be for midterm research paper due next Wednesday. So I'm taking away the distraction for a bit.**

**Oh, and if you have a Tumblr...I wouldn't mind a few more followers, link's in my profile...**

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><p>Greyback was pressing her against the wall, running a large hand through her hair roughly, grabbing it and pulling her head up. She jabbed her wand into his stomach, shouting <em>Stupefy<em>, which did nothing. He laughed at her attempt to move him, and she briefly thought he had a shield up in case she would have tried it.

"Come now, you honestly didn't expect Scabior'd be around to always protect you, did you? Or that two Aurors would be a match for a werewolf like me?"

He flung her to the floor, knocking the wind out of her, her wand clattering out of reach. He lunged at her, sitting on her hips and holding her arms down, making it impossible to sit up. His lips attacked her neck and shoulder, biting and drawing blood, licked away by his tongue. His claws tore her clothing away from her body, taking flesh with it. That was the only sound, tearing fabric and popping seams. What was left of her clothes was spelled away, leaving her bare and bleeding under him.

It wasn't difficult to notice he was aroused as he bit hard at her breast, causing her to scream out in pain. Again, more blood.

"That's pain to you?" He hissed, excited at how easy it was to hurt her.

He ran his claws down her arms, over her torso where Scabior had marked her, biting her breasts in several places. Her thighs received layers of scratches and lacerations. His teeth began to travel down, and realizing what was happening, she struggled harder.

A tongue found what it sought, eliciting a desire to get him off her. She thrashed, trying to get free.

All Greyback had to do was hold down her arms and keep his knees on her legs, keeping them spread. He was stronger than her, heavier.

He teased her, and she was disgusted with how her body responded. She couldn't help the tears that came down her face, ashamed although she knew she had no right to be.

It had stopped, for a moment.

"Please, just…let me go. I haven't done anything to you." Riley somehow found her voice.

"It's not about you, you little bitch. It's about sending a message."

She heard the rustling of pants, and tried to struggle free again. No. No, no, no, no, no.

A hand raked across her face from her left eye to the right corner of her lip. Riley stopped fighting, smelling more blood. She could taste the metallic tang from her lip.

She screamed as her entered her violently, without a care. It hurt to scream because it hurt to move the facial muscles. But it hurt to be violated like this too. He thrust into her, over and over, roughly. His nails dug into her thighs, holding her as he continued his rhythm.

She screamed and sobbed, feeling the build-up again. No. She couldn't. This wasn't pleasure. It was not Scabior, no on deserved to give her that feeling except him.

Her body automatically arched up, writhing with a climax. Greyback gave a few more thrusts before reaching his own peak, releasing inside of her.

He withdrew, fixing his pants for a moment before staring down at her.

"Tell Scabior I said hello."

He had left, she knew he had. But she was unaware of her surroundings now. Her vision was blurry, tears rolled down her cheek, her right eye the only one able to see. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to think.

It was so hard to stay awake. She had to. But her eyelid had a mind of its own, closing when she didn't want it to.

The last she saw was a flash of gold as the ring she refused to remove unwound itself and darted off in a streak of light.

* * *

><p>The woods were familiar to him. He had been her a mere year before. He was pretty sure he had camped that this same spot at some point. The tree-line looked similar.<p>

He had pitched his tent hours ago, and was staring at the pocket-watch. Riley. He missed her, again. When he had gone away, it was to make sure he was able to keep his cover. But now he was working for the Ministry, had no choice but to follow orders of where he was supposed to go.

He would never admit it, but he worried about her. Two Aurors were easy to overpower.

He sighed, putting the watch back into his coat pocket.

The tent was the same one he had used before, the bed and a sectioned off half-bath in the back, with a large area he had set up with a table and chairs. Papers were everywhere. In a way, it was the same old thing.

The bed in the back only served to remind him of Riley more. He should have taken her with him. At least he'd be with her.

He took a sip of the tea he had made earlier, still hot. He nearly choked when a shot of gold light darted into his tent, and turned back into a ring, spinning until it stopped and fell onto its side.

There was strong magic behind the ring, beside the charm. It was to become a port-key upon finding him, bringing him back to where it had come from. If Riley was in trouble, he'd be dumped outside of the enchantments, right in Diagon Alley, a bit further down than he liked.

He scribbled a note, to be found by the second in command on his small, dinky, four-man-team. Scabior scooped up the ring, and felt the world around him compress and warp as he was dropped in front of the Leaky Caldron.

He ran. He gave no regard to anyone in his way. It couldn't happen again. He refused to let it happen again.

Up the stairs, into the apartment he began to consider his home. Blood. The stench was putrid, bringing an adrenaline rush in a far different way than running had. Panic. He charmed the lights on, and the sight before him sent him stepping back.

Riley, maimed and bloody and clearly having been sobbing through most of her attack. There was a pool beneath her, staining the light floors and reflecting the light cast upon it. The old memory flashed and crossed into the present for only a second. He had sworn to himself that it would never happen again. His Riley, looking like she had been shredded. She was breathing, short, thin breaths. Fighting to stay alive through all that blood loss.

He shrugged off his leather jacket, wrapping her in it as best he could. He brushed the bloody hair out of her face, kissing her forehead and whispering things that were more for his benefit than hers. He took the stairs three at a time, stopping just outside of the Fidelus enchantments to Apparate away.


	10. Chapter 10

**I wrote a huge chunk (most) of that paper today, and got some community service hours in, so I thought I'd treat myself and do some writing. Not how I wanted it to turn out, but for some reason, I couldn't make myself have them go full-blown fighting. It didn't seem to really...it's justified, but...I don't know, it just seemed like it didn't work...whatever...**

* * *

><p>He had been forced to wait in some tiny room, lined with chairs and tables. Books and newspapers and magazines were scattered about. Greyback's face looked back at him with a fierce snarl in black and white. Scabior had burned the paper as soon as he had walked into the room and saw it.<p>

The looks on the faces of the mediwitches said it all. They knew who had done it. They were surprised she was still breathing. Whispers of how lucky she was to have gotten there in time, what a kind man (he wanted to laugh). They didn't give up on her; as long as she was willing to fight, they were too.

He had been directed to the information desk by a plump nurse who had told him everything would be fine. He wasn't family, he had no idea what information to give them other than her last name and age, and he certainly wasn't willing to have them contact her father.

He couldn't do that to the poor man.

From there, he had be told to wait in the tiny room with tables and chairs. Where he was at present.

Scabior looked up at the clock on the opposite wall. It seemed to mock him, slowly measuring the passage of time. It had only been a few hours. This was horrid. Dreadful. He never had much patience to begin with, and this was just fucking unbearable. A mere three hours, they had been working on her. No news.

He got up, no longer desiring to sit still. He wasn't meant to. Always in motion. He paced. He counted the steps it took from one end of the room to the other. He charmed things, paced more. He resembled a wounded wolf, angry with revenge. A caged animal. He had to keep his blood circulating, otherwise it just sat in his veins and boiled.

He was anxious. Another hour and a half passed by. Nothing. He needed to know she was okay. He wanted to see her, and see her pull that smile that tried to assure him more than her that she was okay. That it wouldn't be like last time.

He needed a cigarette.

And he hadn't smoked in months.

As he walked towards a courtyard where smoking was allowed (it made sense, he admitted, he wasn't offended by it), he fumbled around with his jacket pocket. Stupid extension charm made it impossible to find anything. He had a pack left over, he knew he did, he could have sworn…there it was. He put the cigarette to his lips as he walked into the cold late night, lighting a match by the light coming from inside.

It helped, but in an empty way. It filled him, but left as soon as he exhaled. It wasn't enough. He needed Riley.

And she was out of reach, being preserved by mediwitches and doctors.

He couldn't help but think about the damage. What if they couldn't fully fix her face? What about the bites; was she a werewolf now, or merely wolf-like? What if they hadn't saved her?

He didn't care if she was a werewolf now, he wanted her alive. He'd deal with her new side.

Psychologically…he didn't want to think about it.

"So she's alive, I take it?"

That voice. Merlin damn it. Of course. How could have been so fucking daft? How else had Greyback gotten to her? He had to have had someone inside. And he had given the location to one other person. He felt like choking himself. Scabior had done this to her, really. If he hadn't…

His teeth crushed the end of the cigarette and he whipped around, hand catching Davidson's throat. The blonde man chuckled as he was forced against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. His teeth were bare, sharp points glinting in the little light available.

"Why?" The cigarette tumbled to the ground, a smoke trail twisting in the winter air. "You 'ated Greyback!"

Davidson shook his head, as much as he was able to. "I didn't want to give up the life, Scab. You left us. We reformed and you never came. And you gave names because you want a life with your new girl. You fucked Greyback over, he ruined the one thing you had going for you. Fair's fair!"

Scabior growled, crushing his windpipe harder. It was Davidson who had given Riley's location to him. He deserved to be dead.

But that would put him at Greyback's level. No. He'd never let himself be compared to that animal.

He released Davidson who fell to his knees, coughing. Scabior took his boot to the other man's face, for good measure. He'd pull the _Cruciatus_ on him if he was in the mood, but he'd rather not screw over the chances he had with the Ministry.

"Tell Greyback 'is message is loud an' clear an' 'e can go fuck a duck. I made my choice."

Scabior walked back inside, head held high and stride long.

* * *

><p>He had finally been allowed into the room with much begging on his part. Maybe not begging, he'd never admit to it, but he did have to put on teary-eyes in order to get inside.<p>

He had pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed and held her hand in his own. So small. Limp. She had a pulse, but only just.

Her face was swollen, healed as best as it could be. Angry pink lines ran across her face; her left eye was either gone or, if the bite had given her lupine tendencies, would be a different vision focus. They had to repair her nose, and her lips had been fixed; as if there had never been a claw mark through them. Her neck was swaddled, and he could see bandages on her lower half, lumpier around her hips and thighs.

The doctor had pulled him aside before he entered, and explained that they have given her blood replenishing potions and healing charms had only been able to do so much. They had pulled in a specialist that was trying Muggle techniques; stiches, the like. There had been tearing, which had been taken care of. It churned Scabior's stomach that the filthy werewolf had touched her. It made him hate Greyback more. They had given her a contraception potion.

In terms of memory, of mental scarring, it would take weeks if not months for her to get back to where she was.

Her eyes had fluttered open, staring at the white ceiling. Not home. Home. Blood. Greyback. Oh, oh Merlin, he'd…

She was in pain. So much pain. Why did they have her at this angle? Pain was shooting through her lower stomach and hips, her head, her back.

She dared lift her head and look around. Wait. Where…why couldn't she see with her left…her hand went to her eye. Swollen shut. Tender. Fingers trailed, following the lines. She gasped, barely capable of that. No. Her face. Her eye. Her sight.

Her smell. Woah. She smelled the cleanliness of the hospital in a whole new way. A slightly musky scent too. Scabior.

At the mere thought of him, she was angry. A part of her blamed him for this. He didn't have to be noble. If he had kept his fucking mouth shut, she'd be able to see.

She was too tired to be angry.

She fell asleep again, the pain becoming unbearable.

* * *

><p>It was awkward, to say the least.<p>

Riley refused to touch him. In any way. He'd try and take her hand, she'd pull away. He'd tried to kiss her forehead, she twisted away, crying out from the movement. Even a hair ruffle set her on edge. She couldn't look at him.

She couldn't talk much. It was like she had lost her voice, but not really. Above a whisper, harsher than a murmur.

"Riley…" He'd began. He had to admit it. Had to tell her…

"You told, didn't you? You let someone else in while I was at work." She growled. "It's not hard to figure out. I never did."

"Yes. I…I thought 'e had been trustworthy. I worked with 'im back when an'…"

"You thought a Snatcher was trustworthy?" Oh, that voice was so scary now when she was angry.

"Well, I was a Snatcher and I'm pretty damn trustworthy."

"I certainly can't trust you as far as I can throw you, can I? 'Cause he told Greyback, then. How the fuck else would this have happened?"

He was trying to stay calm. For her sake. If he got angry, she'd get angry and he wouldn't have that.

"I fucked up, alright?"

"Oh, really? You fucked up?" The tears couldn't stop, she couldn't blink them away. "If that's all you have to say on the matter, then…"

"No, but I'm not goin' to spew it all out 'ere."

Silence grew between them. A tear fell onto the white sheet.

"Riley, I can't…I got you 'ere, I was scared. So scared I'd 'ave lost you, too. I…the only reason 'e went after you is 'cause 'e knows you're important to me."

"How?"

"'ow wha?"

"How important am I to you?"

"Does it matter?"

She nodded as much as she could, her neck still swaddled in bandages.

"Enough for me to consider givin' everythin' up for you, to make me wanna change myself enough to fit into society. That's somethin', love. You're…" He stood straight, stepped away from the windowsill he was leaning against. His hand found his jacket pocket, where he'd put the ring from before. "This ain't the time, Riley. It's not. You're not thinkin' right, and you're 'urtin' and you 'ave to deal with what memories you got. I never wanted to put you in any danger."

He took her hand, unfolding her fingers and putting the fox ring into her palm. "Say the word an' I'll stay. Or we'll take some time to sort this out on our own separate ways. I don' wanna watch you slip away from me, love, but I can't walk away from you. 's up to you."

She looked at the ring. The thing that had, ultimately, saved her life.

She couldn't live without Scabior. That wasn't possible. She was afraid to be alone. To some level she hated him with a passion for giving away.

"Stay. With conditions." She murmured, feeling the effects of the potions again. She was always so tired. The pain had finally died down, but she was always tired.

"Of course."

She was too nice. Anyone else would have kicked his ass to curb, and he knew it.

She flinched as he touched her cheek, but stopped, reminding herself it was only Scabior. She knew him.

"I 'ave to settle things, then. I'm not leavin' London until I know you're fine."

Riley didn't reply. Her throat hurt, she really wanted a raw steak. She wanted to open her left eye so damn bad.

He dared to kiss the top of her head, and received no flinch or recoil this time. He walked out of the room, heading into the city.

He was going to kill Greyback as soon as he got the chance.


	11. Chapter 11

**And it all comes to a head…**

**I feel really bad, like I'm abusing the characters. The next few chapters are going to have to be filler. This one's short, but has what I wanted in the previous chapter but wouldn't work just then. **

**(I wrote my Art History paper, which got pushed back to next week but needs severe editing, hence why I'm able to write at the moment. Stress is gone, but at the same time, professor expects wonderful papers. Ha.)**

**Your reviews are fantastic, as always. :)**

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><p>She rarely slept anymore. Riley would close her eyes, she'd fall asleep, but then the dreams kicked in. The nightmares. She felt her wounds burn, she'd try and fight him off but it wasn't real. She'd scream bloody murder. She'd see his eyes, the eyes of an animal.<p>

Scabior had attempted to wake her up one night, holding her limbs down, knees on her thighs. In her screaming and writhing, she'd managed to knock him off the bed. He landed onto the floor with a thud, hitting his head on a nightstand.

He was nursing an ice-pack, a cigarette, and a tumbler of Firewhiskey when she stumbled out of the bedroom at four in the morning. Their eyes met; he looked away first.

The doctor had shooed him outside of the room to give her discharge orders and explain the nature of her wounds. She was not a werewolf; her bites were given to her in the werewolf's human form. She would obtain lupine qualities; a taste for raw meat, a new sense of smell, her left eye would have a different visual field than before, a bit more strength than before, and she might have less control when it came to her spike in hormones.

But the limbo of human and wolf was still pressed on her. She understood now.

The tension was getting worse with each passing day. Scabior had given his field post to someone else, and was stuck in London until Riley could do something other than work around the apartment. She had hired someone to man the café, because she couldn't face the public.

He drank more than usual to deal with the situation. Because he hated himself. He'd done this to her, really. He ruined a young girl. He'd fucked up and now she was so different.

No smiles, no laughs, no playful glares. She ate meat like it was never going to be found again. She looked like hell, simply because no charms, no makeup could hide those shadows under her eyes. She'd be exactly as she had been when he left, as if she never moved at all.

She was not the same Riley.

It started when he'd had a bit too much to drink. Not stumbling, slurring, drunk, but the brave drunk. The stupid drunk that made his accent a little difficult to comprehend.

"Ye need to ge' ov'r this, love. All ye do is sulk 'round 'ere. Ye don' go ou'side. Ye 'ardly move."

She merely looked at him. Hoping to strike some sort of logic into his head that she clearly wasn't in any state to start her life again at the moment. Thinner than before, her pants falling from her hips. She turned away, heading towards the bottle on the counter. Drinking made him horrid. He would say things he thought when he was sober but had enough sense not to let slip.

She dumped the alcohol down the drain, dropping the bottle with a dramatic, loud, thud into the sink.

Her way of saying that she didn't give a shit what he thought. He wanted to play that game, she'd take away the enabler.

"Yer not the same, Riley."

"How can I be?" She snapped. "How I can be around the same man who caused this?"

She gestured to her face, where the pink marks never faded, with the single white mark from their meeting. To her eye, which, honestly, was dizzying to look through. They both knew under her baggy sweater (baggy to begin with, but now it hung like it did on a clothing rack, no form under it) were more pink marks, interlaced with the old marks from his ring.

"That was Greyback, not me." He growled.

"No, but you certainly didn't mind sharing my living location with one of his men."

"I didn' know! I 'adn't talked to 'im in months, 'ow was I supposed to know 'e worked fer Greyback?"

She was silent. In all honestly, who would ever admit to working for such a foul excuse for a man?

"Don' go blamin' me 'cause ye can' get a 'old of yerself. I'm puttin' up with this. I'm spendin' my day in a fuckin' office because ye can't be left alone for too long. I'm runnin' on little sleep because ye scream through the fuckin' night. I didn' know I'd be babysittin'. I didn' ask for this."

"Well, I didn't ask to be attacked."

"Why is it always 'bout ye, love? 'ow am I supposed to feel when ye don' look at me like ye used to? When ye don' smile or laugh or even talk? Yer a stranger, Riley."

At some point, he'd backed her up against the support column, pressing his weight on her. Her heart was pounding rapidly, somewhere between desire and fear. Hips on hers brought back the ever-present nightmare. Alcohol-laced breath made everything worse. She whimpered, trying to free herself from her prison of wall and flesh.

"Scabior, you're drunk. Let me go."

He leaned in more, crushing her, teeth biting her scar-riddled neck. The wounds were still tender with too much pressure and she cried out. Her mind put her back to that night, to the blood and the pain.

She freed her leg, her increase in strength kicking in as her toes escaped from his boots. She kneed him, and he stumbled back, breath suddenly gone.

"Ow, love," he gasped. He had doubled over, picking his head up and looking at her. Icy blue, filled with drunken anger, pain…sorrow, glared up at her. The kind of glare given to an enemy, a person that one feels nothing but loathing for. "Ye'll pay for that."

In one swift move, he struck her, arm in a sweeping arc in the air. Riley didn't have the time to cry out or attempt to dodge the blow. She stood there, looking in the direction the smack had turned her head in. A large red mark was making its way above the claw-marks, a handprint. She felt herself glaze over with shock, anger filling her from her toes to her chest, where it swelled and stayed there, twisting her stomach.

Scabior had pulled his arm back to his side, but looked at his hand and then back at her. As if he hadn't realized what he'd done. He had never hit a woman. Not even as a Snatcher. He'd shake them up a bit, try and appear menacing, but he'd never hit the women.

It tore at him to see his hand on her cheek. Amid all the marks, the red hand the most prominent. He had never intended to hurt her, for her to get hurt. The guilt felt as though it had a sobering effect on him, almost. His gut twisted in the most uncomfortable way.

"Riley…" He couldn't look at her. Not now. Maybe never.

"Get out." She hissed, head still turned. She was looking down, trying to control her emotions before her new sense of self took hold.

He didn't move.

"Get out!" She roared, looking at him with eyes wide in anger, the pupil of her yellow eye dilating. Her teeth were bared, locked together, an old display of power.

He glanced into her eyes, regret written on his face. It vanished as he collected his coat and scarf, the slam of the door resounding in his mind far after he had left.


	12. Chapter 12

** I'm a little ahead on my work (in that I still have to study and finish one paper but that long-ass paper is done entirely). So, have some more development.**

**A bit of revision towards the end, thanks to HP2011, who pointed out my loose thread there. Proof I shouldn't try and write prose after redoing a seven page paper.**

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><p>Riley found herself unable to keep occupied. Doing the paperwork and ordering supplies only did so much. The person she hired, a kind, motherly woman by the name of Emily looking for work with her kid at Hogwarts, would shoo her out of the door and see her back to the stairs.<p>

Needless to say, she had redone her Fidelius charm. The old lift, hidden away in a corner of the building became her new way home. Fuck stairs. She hated stairs.

Inspiration struck her one day. She found herself uncurling and getting out of bed, taking a shower and truly bothering to groom herself. Her hair was a mess. She took a pair of scissors and trimmed it. She got dressed. Pulled out flour, eggs, sugar, cocoa. Threw things together that she wasn't quite sure about but ended up making a wonderful combination.

She had surprised Emily with her creations, who happily served them.

Riley began functioning again. New desserts, new ideas. She changed the layout of her flat, the flooring, the furniture. It was based on a central corridor from the front door. To the left were two bedrooms; the master and a guest with a large shared bathroom. Straight ahead, the kitchen, larger than before with an island. To the right, an office and the living room across from it.

She'd smile at customers, her scars still pink and bumpy but healed. She covered her eye at the counter with a patch, for the sake of not scaring away people. They used to look at her with pity, with shock, and to see her up and going back to her life some three months later seemed amazing.

One of her male patrons had commented on her scars, merely saying they added character. Horrible circumstances, he hastily added, but he thought they didn't detract from her looks.

She'd blushed and thanked him. It continued, flirting, stopping in on excuses to see her. He was handsome, around her age, a little older. Brown hair, brown eyes, clean shaven. Polite. Shy. He reminded her of a little puppy, trying to figure out the workings of the world.

She'd agreed to dinner; casual, nothing fantastic. The more time she spent with him, the more she missed…

Her rational mind went berserk whenever her mind went there. He hit her. Plain and simple, drunk or not. He took his hand and hit her. No man would lay a hand on her. She was done being abused and hurt.

But on the other hand, Scabior had changed, to some degree. He had wanted to flip his life around for her. All for the sake of having a life with her.

He ruined it, her mind would scream. The moment he raised his arm, he ruined whatever they had built.

Her heart always seemed to win in the end, because she would find herself waking up with tear streaks on her face and clutching the pillow that once belonged to him.

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><p>There was a noticeable change in Scabior when he returned back to his men. He was aggressive, easily angered, and withdrawn. He'd threaten his men, and the ones they captured several times. He kept to himself in camp, and there was always a space between him and his men when they traveled.<p>

He hated himself. How could he have let that happen? He was trying to make up for his first fuck-up, and he managed to fuck that up, too.

The burning of the Firewhiskey did nothing for his pain. The guilt he carried was a constant ache, unquenchable by any alcoholic means.

They had stopped in London, in the Alley, for the sake of supplies; they had gone to the Ministry anyway, why not head to Diagon Alley for a little while and grab something at the Leaky Caldron and grab some rooms for the night.

He had peered in on Riley; she kept the shop open until nine now, according to the sign. She was at the counter, smiling at another man. Younger. He watched as she disappeared from view and then backed away from the figure opposite her. She had kissed him, in sight of everyone.

They never did that. Goodbye, sure, but she kept him and her work separate.

Had she been ashamed of him?

Then again, they weren't together at the moment, what did it matter?

The guilt rose up again, mixed with jealousy and desire.

No. He'd leave her be. He wasn't about to go begging forgiveness. What was he, a dog?

His meeting with Audrey earlier had been hellishly awkward. It was clear he wasn't sleeping well, was frustrated and angry about something. She had merely cocked her head at his stubble-laced chin and ringed eyes, but she knew. Having seen Riley with her stranger, clearly something had gone down.

"Give her time," was all the woman said before he left. He didn't reply. He couldn't. What was there to say?

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><p>Weeks went by. More of Fenrir's men captured, but the wolf himself remained elusive. His attacks were sporadic, happening in staggered moments with no warning and no pattern. Although that there wasn't a pattern was a pattern in itself, really. He was clearly hiding somewhere Scabior didn't know of. Apparation had its limits, and they were determined to find a den.<p>

He found himself in London more often again, spying on Riley for a minute every so often.

"Clearly something didn't work out if you have to skulk to see her," Audrey had come from somewhere, obviously, but he hadn't been paying enough attention.

"I ain't skulkin'. Observin'."

"Oh? And why don't you just stroll in and talk to her?"

"'Cause I'm not welcome, I'm pretty sure. I did somethin' outta anger and drunkness, somethin' I'd never do. I can't apologize to 'er yet."

Riley was sitting on her break, reading and drinking her tea as he looked in again.

"I'm not having a man who can't keep his emotional business out of his work out in the field being a belligerent arsehole." Audrey stated, the underlying threat obvious. _Get your shit together and fix this or you're fired and sent to Azkaban._

Scabior growled, but pushed open the door. He was hit with the familiar scent he hadn't smelled in so long. He swallowed, relatively fixed his hair and straightened scarf and jacket before walking over to Riley.

She looked from her paper, her single grey eye (she bothered to cover her other eye, he was slightly disappointed) questioning. She didn't look angry, merely curious and waiting.

Shit, what was he supposed to say? He was pretty sure, "I'm sorry" didn't cover being a drunken jerk and smacking the woman he cared about in the face.

"I'm…not even sure what needs to be said. I can't apologize, 'cause wha' I did can' be covered under "I'm sorry." I was selfish, and stupid, and I never meant…" he gestured to her cheek, free of bruises and covered in pink claw marks. "I never 'it women. I was raised a bit more proper than that, believe it o' not."

She just continued to look at him. Assessing. Still waiting.

"It's more than just me missin' bein' wit' you, Riley. It's beyond that now. I wanted to 'elp but I was too wrapped up in bein' a miserable sod. I miss you. I miss wakin' up next to you and cookin' dinner and just…you. I was willin' to turn myself in if it meant spendin' the remainin' years I've got wit' you. And I know I fucked that up, and I fucked up tryin' to fix my fuck-up. I love you, Riley, that's…"

He paused, thinking about what he said. He just spewed out a speech to say three words.

"That's the only way I think I can cover 'ow I feel about you." He murmured.

She blinked. The slowly assessing blink. She was far from confused. Here he was, scruffy and eyes like a raccoon, telling her he loved her. He wasn't begging for her to take him back. He wasn't repeating an apology. He told it like it was.

She got up, realizing anyone in the café with an interest in other people's lives was watching and had heard everything he said, and laid her hands on his chest, looking up at him.

"I'm not saying that I don't love you back, because I have to on some level. I've missed you, and I missed having you around. But…"

"We have to start again."

"Yes. I…want to give you a life; I want us to have a life together, Scabior, Merlin knows I felt that way before, and still do. But how can I trust you?"

"I'd be shocked if you did after that, love." He reached up and took her hands in his. "In fact I'd be rather upset if you did. Let's just…backtrack, yeah? Not forget, but just…and 'oo's the new bloke, anyway?" It was extremely off-track from where they had been heading. He didn't ask it with anger, with jealousy (although he certainly felt it), or with a threat. Merely curious and confused, with a tad bit of hurt he thought he was hiding so well.

Riley opened her mouth, to say it was just a slow thing, but he shook his head, pulling away slightly. "I still 'ave werewolves to find. Spend some time with the bloke your age. I'll come back, say a month or two or somethin'. If you decide you like 'is company better, say the words and I'm gone. Not because I'd be hurt, and I would, but because I'm not gonna be wit' you if it makes you un'appy. That's...that never bodes well for anyone, I'm told."

She nodded slowly, hands fixing his scarf out of habit, running her fingers over his vest. "You're not at all what I expected sometimes, do you know that?"

"I try." He ducked down, lightly kissing her left temple. "I never meant to 'urt you. I only want you safe and 'appy and…I will find Greyback, an' I'll kill 'im. Or make sure 'e's dead before I am."

"I know."

He was gone before she realized, like the Snatcher he was. She stood there foolishly, arms in front of her, awaiting another body. She sighed, put them back down to her sides and looked at her tea. She already knew her choice, which would sit and fester in her mind, surrounded by doubt and possibilities.


	13. Chapter 13

**And more development (not sure I like it...eh, whatever, I have to head to work). I'm planning on having two, maybe three more chapters. A confrontation with Greyback and then an epilogue. Time to wrap this up, because I want to work on one of my other fics for NaNoWriMo. If you have a specific preference for that, think I should do a certain one first, leave it in a review or hit the Tumblr.**

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><p>Riley looked at herself in the mirror. She was dressed up, and felt so vulnerable. The dress, with its layers of crinoline, poofed out. The way she would have loved as a child. The lack of a neck and sleeves left her open to stares; her charms didn't do much to hide the scars.<p>

She was having trouble with the heels, thin and tall. Like walking on knives.

Jeremy had bought the dress and shoes, presented them to her after dinner one night; his parents were having a dinner party and he wanted her to wear it. Supposedly he thought of her as soon as he saw it.

They had attended Hogwarts together, they had discovered. He remembered her being in Ravenclaw. He was a Slytherin.

That was the only thing she found he had in common with Scabior. And that scared her.

She was so used to the Snatcher. He may have been a decade older than her, but he was all she knew. The only man she had ever willingly bedded. The only man she really knew, and knew her.

When Riley really thought about it, she had no one. She didn't have friends, she had acquaintances. She had a father, but they hadn't spoken in a while.

The only other person she had for months was Scabior. Extremely unhealthy, in reality.

She still wore the fox, the ring that ultimately saved her.

Hands smoothed out the dark blue fabric of the skirt, embroidered with shimmering bronze thread. It was a beautiful dress. But he wasn't the one she should have been wearing it for.

"Why are you so set in your ways, Riley? You're twenty. C'mon," she muttered, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she went to grab her cloak by the door.

Sighing, she opened the elevator door that served as her front door, and stepped into the lift, heading down to meet Jeremy. She wanted to chicken out. This was…no, people would stare at her. Pity her. She'd have to sit there and hope the color on her face hid the scars. She had slid on the eye-patch because she didn't want to freak people out with her eye.

Anxiety set in. She punched the button to take her back up, but it seemed to think otherwise. Mocking her. She had no choice but to step out of the lift, since Jeremy was right there. Couldn't back out now.

Riley sighed, and stood in front of him, looking up. He looked startled, shocked at her appearance (either at her sudden presence or how she looked, it was impossible to tell). He smiled awkwardly, murmured words of affection and told her she looked amazing before offering his arm.

She mentally checked off another box; he was clearly proper in some form. Scabior was polite, proper to a point, but never really formal about it.

Apparating out of London, she found herself outside a small manor, and led up stone stairs through a foyer. It was extravagant, luxurious in the over-the-top way. Crystal chandeliers, wallpaper that belonged five centuries in the past. She found it ridiculous, over the top, ugly.

He didn't dance with her; she wasn't even introduced to his parents (that's a critical part, she was sure) His attention was ensnared by a red-head in black. There had been a few men who either pitied her or thought her worth their time, she couldn't tell. Some asked about her eye-patch; she claimed to simply be blind in that eye. Easier than admitting she looked like a half-breed freak.

Everyone had said their goodbyes, leaving Riley subject to Jeremy's arms. He had wrapped an arm around her waist possessively, but his hand was resting on her bottom. Even with all of the crinoline between her and his hand, it was uncomfortable. She felt disgusted. She tried to move his hand up, but it just sat below the small of her back again.

She sighed softly. She was making comparisons again.

Riley was led upstairs, and she knew it had to be coming. He felt like he had done something for her (although he hadn't, he had left her for the much prettier red-head with very long legs). And so, he felt he was owed compensation.

Her mind wasn't as panicked as she expected it to be. She was fine with the kissing, a bit sloppy but she could overlook that. Clumsy hands looking for the zipper of her dress. He was either used to the Hogwarts uniforms or far more inexperienced. The growl in his throat said it all when her dress fell to the floor, and his hands found her breasts. Nope, just not used to dresses.

She had made quick work of his tie and shirt, suspenders and trousers. She was working more than he was, sucking at the hollow of his neck, trailing lips down his chest. She stopped at his hips, working her way back up.

He hadn't done anything except grab at her chest. She looked at him, not confused but rather annoyed.

"Isn't this a bit fast, considering we've known each other, what, three months?" She asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Not really, no," he replied, fingering the lace at her hips. "I wouldn't think you'd care anyway…"

"What?"

"Riley, look at you. You're marked for life. You hide your one eye because you can't stand it yourself. Your scars…" He trailed his other hand over her cheek, fingers right over each scar as if he were opening them himself. "no one's going to want you. So I suggest you be grateful I'm willing."

Oh, she knew someone far more willing than him. As if he were Merlin's gift to women. Really.

She shook off his hand, anger rising, sitting in her chest. She'd been taken advantage of once, it wasn't going to happen again.

Riley picked up the dress, zippered it with ease, and slipped her heels back on with far more grace than she thought she had.

"And who said you could leave?" Jeremy held the door closed, looking down at her with an equal fury. "Get on the bed, and you'll leave alive, although unable to walk."

"As if I need you to tell me what to do." She growled. "And I highly doubt that last remark." She cast a glance down at his manhood.

It had left his pride wounded enough for her to make it out of the bedroom and attempt to Apparate back to the London. She succeeded; surely they would have had wards up in the house? Or Jeremy was just showing off when he had taken her through the front door.

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><p>She had walked into the café, surprising Emily.<p>

It was just past nine. Heels clicked on the tiled floor, the dress obviously hastily put on. The older woman took in her boss' appearance. Make-up smudged, hair a mess.

"Can I have some tea, Emily? If the kettle's still hot." The shock of it finally hitting her, her voice cracking slightly as she sat down trembling.

"No problem."

Riley ripped off the covering on her eye, finding it wet with tears. She grabbed a napkin and wiped her eyes, the way one does while trying to keep some eyeliner intact. Her breathing was shaky, and her hands wouldn't stay still.

Emily brought over a cup of tea, dark and steaming, along with a small cup of milk and the sugar bowl. Riley attempted to do it herself, once with magic and once without, but her hand wasn't steady enough and both times she managed to dirty the table with white crystals.

She leaned back in the chair, trying to keep herself together. Were all men her age like that? Did he think she willingly fucked Greyback? That she just happened to piss him off and it went bad? Her self-esteem had finally risen a bit only to plummet when he said no man would want her. Bullshit. The opinion of one man mattered little, didn't it?

She had failed to notice the fox on finger had dashed off again until the golden bolt of light darted across the floor and hopped onto the table, curling up again.

Riley would have found the sight of a panting Scabior standing in the doorway high amusing if she wasn't trying to hold herself together.

He caught his breath as he strode over to her, taking in her appearance. He had never seen high heels on her feet, never seen her in a dress. She looked…so unworthy of him. No, rather, he was unworthy of her.

"I wasn't in danger. He doesn't really have much bite to his bark, pardon the pun." Riley said softly.

Emily shifted awkwardly, and then excused herself, heading to the storeroom to count the day's earnings.

"I know. Just a spoiled brat who thinks 'e's entitled." He took the vacated spot, placing his hands over hers, which were wrapped around the cup of tea. "'e didn't..?"

"No. When there's no response and you're doing most of the work, something's wrong." She let out a tiny sardonic laugh. "Not to mention he told me no man would want me. That I should grateful he was willing." An eye-roll this time, because they both knew that was ridiculous.

"'e should be grateful he got to see you all dolled up. 'cause 'e didn't deserve that, let alone you in 'is bed." He pulled his hands away from hers, which gave her the chance to drink her tea.

"Why did…?" She wiggled her finger on which the ring sat as she drank, looking at him with smudged eyes.

"You thought o' me."

"I've thought of you plenty of times and this thing's remained motionless."

"Well, you thought o' me an' then realized somethin', that's the only way I can explain it without ruinin' it."

"I made comparisons the whole night, I don't…"

"Yeah, but why? Why would you make comparisons, Riley? This should be easy for you, c'mon."

"Because I love you, I mean…I thought that was obvious. I just haven't said it."

It was Scabior's turn to roll his eyes. He leaned in, kissing her the way she liked, dominance but willing to be challenged, to be fought. He pulled away, kissing her forehead gently.

"By the way, love, you look beautiful."


	14. Chapter 14

**A whole day of writing. Holy crap. I haven't done one of these in so long. I blame the snow storm that hit the East Coast. It just feels like the day you curl up to write or read a book or watch TV. Screw the fact I need to read for discussions in class. Thank you guys for the reviews, love them as always. :)**

**And...I'm completely naive as to actual locations in Britain. I chose a real location by name and am going off of a small description by the forestry commission. So, using the location's name and what lays there, but as to the specifics, they'll be made-up. **

**And smut be ahead. I felt it was necessary.**

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><p>Scabior stared at the map that had been pinned to the board for months. It was dotted with red marks, lines connecting them creating a vast web. As if they would create some shape that the Aurors and he could make sense of.<p>

There was no real shape. Just a radius. A few outliers, over the borders or in the city. Riley's picture was up with all of the others, along with pictures of her wounds and a copy of the medical records. He wanted nothing more than to tear them down and burn them. Hell, he wanted to toss everything. The more he stared at it, the more he hated Greyback.

There had to be a pattern. They kept muttering that, the wizards trained in this. Even Scabior knew that; the runaways always stuck to a pattern. But with Greyback, the only seemingly obvious pattern was that everyone attacked was a witch or a wizard or a Muggle. In other words, there was no victim pattern.

Which was, in itself, a pattern.

They had taken some of the smaller dens (attacks around there marked in green; they occurred but the area was now under control of Ministry patrols), and attacks kept occurring in specific areas. Clusters.

Logic would follow that the area with the most attacks, or the most vicious, would have Greyback. For every attack, there was always one person that seemed to meet Greyback personally, and the corpses reflected that.

So, locations with the highest number of vicious attacks…Greyback was likely to stay where he wouldn't be caught, in a good, strong, base of operation. His comfort there would show, and hence more attacks because he felt he wouldn't be caught.

He was never one for numbers, but in this case he hadn't wanted to ask; he was the head of the team, after all. Someone had double-checked his math, for the sake of correction.

"So you're thinking he's around here, then?" The second man, Scabior could never remember his name, pointed to a dense area of red dots and string.

Scabior got up from his chair, pacing, like he always did when trying to think clearly. "Believe me, I've seen Greyback when 'e thinks 'e won't get in trouble for what 'e does. The attacks around here," he pointed to the spot, "are extremely uncontrolled. It took 'ow long to identify some of 'em, and some still remain John and Jane Does? Everywhere else, we've been able to figure out 'oo they are. An' there's more attacks 'round 'ere than anywhere else."

He stood back, and stared at the stupid board, shaking his head. How had they missed it earlier? Seriously? He knew Greyback well enough; it fit with his...what was it…MO? Was that what they called it?

It was late, so late it was early. He checked the watch that sat in his pocket at all times. They'd want an actual plan in place as soon as it was humanly possible. But he was tired and they didn't want someone too tired to help them, especially someone that was supposed to be very aware of Greyback's habits. Scabior leaned back against a desk, hands resting on the dark wood behind him. If he was right…so many more people would die, even if they had the most-foolproof plan in existence.

And if he was wrong…

Audrey was asleep, and no one ever dared disturb her when she was home unless it was an absolute emergency. So it would definitely have to wait, planning.

Time to double-check his sources. As he headed to the Atrium, he circumvented and went into the potion storage for Aurors, a small, tiny room filled with hundreds of potions, a few dozen of the same kind. He looked towards the bottom for the one he wanted. He picked up the first one he saw and dashed back onto his path.

* * *

><p>Azkaban was just as he remembered it being. Cold, deathly cold. A feeling of depression and hopeless washed over him, once so familiar to him. It still was, in a vague half-remembered-dream way. It felt like it was so long ago that he sat in the cell he just passed. It had only been nearly two years. Such a short time that felt like a lifetime ago.<p>

He passed Crouch Junior, slumped against a wall. Several Death Eaters that had been tried and found guilty. Greyback's men filled most of the cells.

The Auror that was with him had a Patronus in front of them, a proud tiger that roared and growled at every Dementor that they passed. They back away, and Scabior felt as if they were welcoming him back, getting close but never enough to take his soul, remembering him.

They came to the cell he was looking for; the Auror stayed outside as Scabior sauntered in, looking down on the man in front of him. Davidson glared up, eyes betraying the man. He was full of anger, of basic drives. Stubble had grown into a scruffy beard, hair past his ears, oily and caked with dirt. He was covered in fresh and old wounds; he had been transforming, frustrated at not being able to attack and thus attacked himself. Even the depressing chill hadn't entirely snuffed out the desire to kill and to maim.

"Come to kill me?" The werewolf growled.

"I think you're takin' care o' that jus' fine, don't you?" Scabior replied. "I came for information."

"You won't be getting any."

"Is Greyback 'iding out near Black Rocks?"

"And why would I tell you, Scab? Really? Think you can just waltz in here and demand information from me?" Despite his ragged, bloody state, Davidson grinned wickedly. "I don't think so."

"A trade, then." Scabior stuck his hand into his pocket, digging around for the one thing a werewolf might want at this point. He pulled out a small bottle, the Ministry tag still on it. "Know what it is, Davidson?"

The werewolf simply stared at the bottle, waiting. Scabior popped the stopper out, a faint smoke coming from the neck of the bottle.

"Wolfsbane." Davidson looked unfazed. "And why would I want that, just so I can live a little longer in this hellhole?"

"I think you'd rather not kill yourself, am I righ'?"

"And you know I'm not going to lie…how?"

"Comply an' I'll put in a good word for you, maybe reduce your sentence a bit."

"A bit?"

"We'll see on the time, but Kavanagh wants Greyback caught. Give us information an' they'll be sure to 'ave a nice reward for you."

"Like they did you? They'll toss you back here when they're through with you, Scab. They don't need a Snatcher who still has a sentence to finish and another one to start out on the streets."

"Not like they 'ave the room for me a' the moment." Scabior held out the potion. "Your choice. Is Greyback 'idin' out in Black Rocks?"

Davidson hesitated, wanting the bottle. Wanting to stop causing himself harm every single full moon. But to comply would be becoming like Scabior. A traitor. A traitor with a death wish-he wouldn't have come on his own with a single Auror unless he planned to go after Greyback himself.

By all means.

"He's in one of the abandoned quarries, the tunnels beneath it."

"That means nothin'. Quarries implies more than one."

"It's not filled in with water. So there's access from the quarry itself. Find the room filled with different tunnels, and if you smell rotting flesh…"

The men glared at each other for a few moments. Davidson was trying to keep his mouth shut without really keeping quiet at all.

Scabior tossed the bottle of Wolfsbane at Davidson, hands with bloody nails catching it, holding on it as if it were his lifeline.

* * *

><p>He didn't bother returning to the Ministry.<p>

Riley still hadn't let him back into her apartment, despite their knowledge of the mutual feelings between them. He didn't blame her, and somehow found it better that way.

He wasn't going to head into Greyback clutches without seeing her one last time. Cliché as it was.

It was far too early for her to be up, but most restaurants in the Alley started early for preparation. It was a shot in the dark, but he smiled lightly to himself to see the lights on behind the bar, to see Riley rather than Emily grinding the coffee and filling the machines.

She flicked her wand in his general direction, unlocking the door when she saw him. There was something giddy but grave in his eyes as he snaked his arms around her waist, causing her to put down whatever she was doing. She was tired; she wasn't sleeping well again, he noticed, brushing a thumb over the rings under her eyes.

"I think I found 'im, love." He murmured. "Almost. Pinpointed where 'e is, just not the specific location within the location."

She stood on her toes, kissing him and taking him off guard. He let her dominate for a short while before pushing her back into the counter.

"That's a very nice thank-you." He chuckled.

It took him a moment before realizing his hips were pinning hers, remembering the last time he had done that. He backed away, his hands back at her waist with a small space between them. Riley reached for him, pulling him back to her.

"It's okay, Scab." She put a hand on his neck, his nose right under his ear on the other side, her lips grazing his jaw. She pulled back, looking at him.

His hand ran through her hair, holding back a few shorter locks from her face. "You sure? I…"

He didn't want to hurt her, or ruin any progress she had made in mentally recovering. The way she looked at him, there was no apprehension, no fear. She wasn't the hesitant woman he met in the woods anymore, but she wasn't the Riley he had met in the Leaky Caldron anymore, either. He had grown to adore her, respect her for what she had done with her life. Who could know what was best for her better than she did?

"I'm okay." She still had her hand at his neck, tucked under his scarf, running her thumb in a soothing pattern. "I've missed this."

"Well, not 'ere."

Riley rolled her eyes, nipping at his bottom lip. "Your place, then. I've never seen where you live."

"You 'ave a fireplace an' Floo Powder?"

"No Apparating?"

"Wards. Floo takes you in, Apparating would be outside the wards, an' it's a walk to get there after you get passed them."

She forced herself to push her thoughts away long enough to head down the corridor behind the counter and into the back, where she kept the money before it was deposited, and more paperwork and order forms. She figured Emily would be in soon enough, really. The woman was always earlier than needed, but that suited Riley fine. It was neat, too neat. Emily must have seen to that, because he knew Riley tossed her papers everywhere.

She held out a small pot that she had gotten from a small holder on the side of the fireplace. Clean. Never used. So they hell did she have one?

"It helps with deliveries, but I like Apparating whenever I can." She watched his foot brush the hearth, finding no ash.

She kept a log there, used all of once or twice.

"Why not 'ave it out front?"

"I tried. People sat in front of it, and then people came and went through it and then when I had bags of coffee being delivered…wasn't feasible."

He sighed, pointed his wand and lit the fire, grabbing a handful of the powder. He threw the powder into the newly-lit fire, turning them emerald green as she replaced the small pot of powder where she got it. Following him into the flames, and taking his arm for good measure, Scabior stated the destination. She didn't catch much of it, save the word "cottage".

She closed her eyes as she felt the rush of air, knew she could see other fireplaces as they went by, never seeing inside them. It was over in a matter of seconds.

* * *

><p>He walked out of the hearth, leaving her to step out of the fireplace and spell away the soot on her shoes and pants.<p>

The mere idea of Scabior owning a house seemed so odd to her.

She was standing in a sitting room, a trunk for a coffee table and a couch with wooden armrests and feet was behind it. Ahead of her and to the right, the house continued on; there seemed to be a study straight ahead, for her eyes caught sight of bookshelves and a desk, papers neatly in order.

She ventured to the right, finding a kitchen with a low ceiling. Slate floors, cherry-wood cabinets, a tiled countertop. A sink was positioned below a window that looked out onto a thick forest. A small table was to her left, a lantern on top of it.

Past the table was a dining room, dusted but never used. The front door was there, with a square window sectioned off into six smaller ones.

The layout wove to the right, taking her through a small room and then to a staircase. Past the staircase, at the foot, was the door to the bathroom. She saw an old claw foot tub, a simply cabinet and sink, and a mirror, behind which sat a medicine cabinet.

Riley cast a glance up the stairs but headed back through the kitchen. Everything was so minimal; she saw no indications of it being really lived in. There were touches of Scabior here or there, though.

She saw a picture of a woman, smiling, holding a little boy with dark hair and light blue eyes. The woman had dark hair and dark eyes, and would kiss the boy's head and say something, causing him in return to smile. His mother, surely.

"Is it to your liking?" He was leaning against the wall of the doorway to the other room.

"I find it charming. It's not…exactly lived in, but it's nice." She replied, taking her eyes off the frame.

"My mother. The only thing I have left of her, the one picture I was able to save." He shrugged, walking over to her. "She was sayin' 'kneazle' to me when this was taken. I found the word very funny for some reason…"

They headed up the stairs, where two empty bedrooms lay on either side of the hall, and the third at the end was the only indication he lived here.

Shirts were strewn all over, a pair of jeans laying over the back of a wooden chair in the corner. The closet door was open, on the handle was a scarf, pink and purple and orange. The bed was decently large, with a frame of dark wood. The headboard was carved with a forest scene, although it remained motionless. A stag, drinking from a river, trees in the background. To the right, more trees, little animals, a fox among them. To the left, the woods thinned out and a wolf stood on a rock, howling. A window was opposite the door, and they were high enough where she could see the tree-line for miles, the subtle green of spring peeking through the grey branches. The walls were a dark green, molding separating the paint from the wallpaper, patterned with dark green tendrils over a lighter green background.

Scabior turned her around, kissing her fully, longingly. She responded eagerly, fingers tugging at the ribbon in his hair. She twirled the locks around her fingers, keeping them at the base of his neck. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it carelessly on the floor. His fingers brushed the hem of her shirt, snaking under the garment and lifting it, causing her to break the kiss and have to let go long enough for it to be removed.

She went for his thermal, flinging that aside. Resting her hands on his chest, they resumed kissing, a moan or a growl escaping every so often. Shoes were kicked off as they made their way to the bed. He unhooked her bra, dragging the straps down her arms. The backs of her legs touched the bed, and Riley crawled backwards, Scabior following on top of her. She tugged at his belt, undoing it and pulling it out of its loops. It joined the other garments on the floor.

Scabior's lips lefts hers, following a familiar path down her neck, her collarbone, stopping at her breasts. Her scars were better than they had been, thinner but ever-present. His tongue roamed over her nipple, eliciting a moan he hadn't heard in so long. He kneaded her other breast and then switched, her hands clawing at the sheets. His lips traveled back up, her hands finding his pants again and unbuttoning them, pushing them past his hips along with his undergarments. He shimmied out of them, kicking them behind him and off the bed, along with his socks. She lifted her hips as he removed her jeans and knickers together, killing two birds with one stone.

His hand went down her hip, feather-light touches down her thigh and back up the inside of the same leg. He entered her with one finger, catching her off-guard; she took a harsh intake of air, tensing up as he added another finger.

A reassuring hand was placed at his neck, her teeth dragging along his lip as he created a rhythm. He stopped as she was about to peak, withdrawing his hand.

He lowered himself, nuzzling below her ear as he positioned his body over hers. "If I hurt you, if you want me to stop, tell me." He trailed kisses along her jaw, nipping at her lip before he entered her slowly.

She arched up, moaning loudly in pleasure. She had to remind herself it was Scabior, even though all she had to do was look. She met his confused gaze, looking at her for approval before he continued. She captured his lips, rolling her hips in time with his. Their breathing became erratic, the familiar tension building up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling at his hair as she came, moaning his name. Scabior came soon after, releasing into her and kissing her again.

They had gotten under the thick blanket and warm flannel blanket at some point, and laid together, watching the sun trickle through the window.

Scabior had closed his eyes, exhaustion finally hitting him the way an old owl runs into windows. He was holding Riley to him, and she had turned to face him, curling up into his chest.

"Is it possible to just stay here?" She whispered.

"Wha'd you mean?" He slurred, halfway between the realm of the sleeping and the waking.

"It's so peaceful. No loud noises, no chatter, no bustle, no one shouting at me. Can we just stay here and be together and not worry about anything?"

"Riley, as wonderful as that sounds, we both know it ain't possible." He kissed her temple. "I can't wait for the Ministry to get its shit together. I 'ave to go after Greyback, an' I know you don't like that, but someone 'as to." She gave a small groan in protest, but couldn't find the words to reply. "There'll be plenty of time to lay 'round and stay in bed and be out of London when it's done, yeah?"

She didn't dare voice the idea running through both of their minds. That he might not return, might not survive going after Greyback. Instead, she moved closer to him, trying to burn the feeling of his arms around her into her mind.


	15. Chapter 15

**It's extremely short, I know (it's not even a thousand words). Don't kill me. I have issues when it comes to fight scenes, and I'll probably work out the rest of it when I get home. Reviews are lovely, like always. :)**

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><p>He had woken up curled against her, looking out at the orange and pink and blue hues that danced across the sky, signifying the dawn of another evening. She was still asleep, pressed against him, hair falling in her face.<p>

He had understood her, what she had said. Staying here, the two of them. He wanted it. It would have been the closest thing he'd get to being a Snatcher again, had he not decided to give up information. But that would have meant taking her from what she knew, the life she had made for herself and he couldn't do that to her, not without her consent.

If he was to head into Greyback's territory tonight, he had to get moving. Scabior unwillingly removed his arms from her, slipping out from the covers and grabbing clothes from the floor.

He had been in the middle of buttoning up a shirt when she spoke, her voice holding a sadness he never wanted to hear.

"You weren't going to slip away without saying goodbye, were you?"

He looked over his shoulder, Riley sitting up and holding the blanket against her chest. Modesty was endearing on her; covering up despite that his lips and hands were so familiar to her flesh, that his eyes knew every detail. Her grey eyes, once cloudy with lust and satisfaction, were wide, scared. Scared because she might never see him again. Scared because she might have to face a life without him.

She waited, watching him slip on his boots and the ever-familiar leather coat.

"You act like I'm goin' an' never comin' back." His cocky attitude didn't even earn a twitch of her lips. "Riley…we went through this." He placed his hands on her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Someone 'as to. One person who knows 'ow to 'andle Greyback or a whole lot more who don't. I'll come back. I promise."

His lips fell upon her forehead.

"I promise."

* * *

><p>He had trudged through woods after Apparating relatively close to the area. He didn't want to set off any wards, not to mention he had no idea where to find the place Davidson had mentioned.<p>

This meant consulting maps and pamphlets or simply asking around in the nearby village. But he looked out of place, it was a small little hamlet, and someone could listen in.

And it was dark out. This he was used to, traveling in the dark, trying to be as quiet as possible. Identifying a rustle made by a deer from a sound from a werewolf or a bear.

He was following one of the maps he had duplicated from a board; there was only one quarry not filled in with water. The only one with a warning against entering, due to precarious conditions and the sightings of large animals.

Scabior had found the place with little trouble, relying on his innate sense of direction (and the occasional mutter of _Point-Me_). It was disconcerting, having gotten to and into the tunnels this easy. No one was around. No one patrolling. His ability to track scents had come back to him in the past few months, and he couldn't smell much. Except the smell of the earth, the musty air of the underground.

He had no choice but to rely on his nose; there were other things mixed into the air. Blood. Rotting flesh. Sweat. Wet dog. Faint, but present. He felt as though he was going in circles, running into footprints he surely made. Taking turns he thought he had taken already.

He reached the crossroads, his tunnel running into five other ones at a common meeting place. According to Davidson, only one of them should carry a stronger scent of what he was already smelling. His head snapped to his direct left, finding the source. He carried on, slinking into the shadows, finally hearing voices.

A young boy, pleading for his life. Growling. The figures ahead of him cast a horrid shadow on the wall behind them, the large wolf growing ever bigger, taking the boy and biting him, causing a cry of pain. He was flung into the arms of another, and taken away, presumably to heal and begin his life as a werewolf.

Corrupting the innocent, the children. The next generation of witches and wizards and muggles, becoming monsters, the things parents tell their children about at night. Mere children, stuck to enter a world of limbo between man and beast. A world of prejudice, anger, fear. By no means was Scabior a saint, but he knew far better than this.

He hugged wall, blue eyes trained on the silhouette ahead. Greyback had turned back into his human form, willingly, something very rare for a werewolf to be able to do. He was smart enough to throw clothes back on, as if he planned on heading out to the other room where his men were no doubt staying.

Just as Greyback had gone for his wand in his coat pocket, it flew from his hand in the way only caused by a disarming spell. A hand reached out, catching it swiftly.

The werewolf merely chuckled, a deep, sick laugh that came from his chest. His yellow teeth were stained with the blood of the boy he had flung a short while ago.

"I wouldn't laughin', you filthy mongrel."


	16. Chapter 16

**Last chapter (epilogue to come). I still don't have the hang of fight scenes. Oh well. Hope it works.**

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><p>"<em>I wouldn't be laughin', you filthy mongrel."<em>

The werewolf kept a grin plastered on his face, sick and twisted and so far from human. Greyback shook his head, a silent message: Did he really want to do this?

"How's the girl, she alive?"

The glee in those yellow eyes was misplaced. Glee that he had nearly ruined someone so close to his old boss. The sheer thrill of having torn her flesh, tasted her blood, known her in the way only a lover had with no regard for her consent or pleasure. The screams were always the best, of course.

"It's none o' your goddamn business, now is it?" Scabior stepped out of the shadows, twirling Greyback's wand in his hand.

"Oh, but you wouldn't be here if she wasn't. You may be vengeful, but you wouldn't fuck up a chance you have to stay out of Azkaban, now would you?"

Greyback just stood there, picking at his teeth. Relaxed. Far from worried what a single wizard would, or rather could, do to him. As if Scabior had any power behind him. His standing in the Ministry the previous year had everything to do with Greyback's grudging obedience. He had been deemed the leader because he was a wizard, a _human_ and was capable of decent planning and tracking. Voldemort's puppet Ministry had still hidden the creatures it used, just not as much as before the coup.

There was no power behind Scabior. He didn't come with an army. He didn't even have an Auror with him. He was a single man who disarmed him. Greyback was shit with magic, but he compensated for it in physical strength.

Scabior was no threat to the werewolf. They both knew that.

"I'd still be here, even if she hadn't survived."

"You thought you could trade information in order to get back into your little girlfriend's arms. No one simply hands over information on me and gets away scot-free. It never works that way, Scabior."

"You're nothin' but a thug, Greyback. I mean, really. That's all you are. You're tearin' people to shreds, rapin' and killin' and takin' what you want, but why? There's always a purpose."

The men had begun to walk in a circle, Greyback walking like a proud lion, chest out. Scabior squared his shoulders, meeting his gaze the entire time. He knew he was the prey, the rabbit tossed into the den of hungry animals. He didn't like it. Was this how it felt to be running from them? How the runaways and muggle-borns and blood-traitors felt? The rush of adrenaline wasn't from running, from thrill, but from fear.

"Because the people are still recovering. They're weak. Ripe for the picking." The werewolf raised his arms out, fingers arched and claws glistening with crimson in the dim lighting.

"You're disgustin', Greyback."

"So you've said. Back when you had something behind you. You're tossing words at me, human. They're nothing." The werewolf stopped in his pace, face contorted in a mocking pose of thought. "Oh, but, when you think about it…"

"Not that you're capable o' that, now are you?"

"Still with the low-blows, Scabior? You're one to call me disgusting. You killed. You…persuaded…women into your bed. You tortured. You turned people over for money so you could live. How are you any better than me, really?"

Whatever patience Scabior had was gone, and he threw a hex at the werewolf, despite knowing it wouldn't do much good. The purple flash hit the target, but nothing of consequence happened. Greyback chuckled darkly, rushing at the other man with one hand prepared to gut him.

Scabior darted to the side, turning on his heel and kicking Greyback, which did little good. It was like kicking a boulder. A part of him knew what he'd have to do to finish this; two simple words and a flash of green light. But there was something about the fight that would make this worthwhile. Something primal. His survival would be far more gratifying.

Speed was something that was one his side for a time. He'd dodge blows, narrowly escape a swipe of claws or a gnash of teeth. At some point Greyback had caught a hold of him by the shirt and flung him across the room, skidding across the floor. It went downhill from there. He got slower, clumsier. Magic would do nothing, not really. The second wand clattered out of his hold, and was picked up by its original owner.

Scabior scrambled for his wand, sending a stunning spell towards Greyback. In his desperation, his spell was stronger, and managed to send the massive werewolf back a few feet. The ex-Snatcher got to his feet, steadying himself as he flicked his wand, sending a flame that barely even scorched his opponent.

"Oh, you have to do better than that." A giant hand snuffled out a flame on his coat, flicking away ash. "I have other things to do, Scabior."

The word stumbled out of his mouth, "_Crucio_."

He had used it on the werewolf before, several times. To make a point, to assert his role as leader. Usually because Greyback had decided to disobey him and he wasn't going to let harm come to the source of the money they lived off.

It had worked because Scabior reveled in being able to let out the frustration the living conditions were having on all of them.

It worked now because he took knowledge in knowing that the man who caused Riley's suffering was writhing in agony. He stopped with a flick of his wand, and then cast it again. He had forgotten the utter strength needed to cast it, the anger, the drive. He had to want to cause the pain and enjoy it.

He stopped again, stepping closer to the werewolf, who was breathing hard and sweating but looked relatively unharmed.

"_Flagrate_."

He slashed the air with his wand in stiff movements, as if he were wielding a knife. Burn marks, deep and red, began to form on Greyback's body, creating themselves from the inside-out. Scorch-marks appeared on his clothing, and the smell of burning flesh became very obvious in a short amount of time.

The pain had become too much for Greyback, but he had become angry with himself for suffering, for feeling the pain. He was being attacked by a mere human, burned and tortured. The anger overrode the pain and the werewolf found the strength to stand, causing Scabior to pause in his actions.

Bad move.

He lunged at the other man, claws cutting deep and in between his ribs. Giant fists knocked the air out of him, broke his nose, and most likely his jaw. He kept his teeth away from Scabior. The man didn't deserve to be bitten, didn't deserve to potentially become one of them.

He planned to end the human's life, his hand flat and fingers together; with his nails the way they were, it would be easy to thrust his hand through a torso like a makeshift blade.

He had been stopped mid-motion, claws already deep in muscle and tissue, by a shout of "_Incarerous!_" by a female voice.

Scabior flickered on the edge of conscious, remembered seeing Greyback fall to the side. More people. He recognized a few of them. Grey eyes focused on his, lips he wanted to kiss muttering basic healing spells, telling him she couldn't live with herself letting him go and do something stupid. That he better stay awake if he knew what was good for him.

He vaguely recalled giving her a shakey, cocky grin and then waking up to the disgustingly white ceiling of a room at St. Mungo's.


	17. Epilogue

**I want to thank everyone that reviewed, added this to their alerts/faves, and simply bothered to read this. Thanks for sticking through. **

**I'm planning to pick up To Settle a Debt and work on that one as much as I can; I'd consider it my project for NaNoWriMo, I guess. I'm not really going hard-core into it (thanks, college), but I figure I could try and update when I can, etc. Along with the occasional update to Gone Awry, my Thor fanfic (because that's like a stress reliever). **

**So, thank you, again. You guys are wonderful. :) **

**I actually...I don't...it's not that I don't like happy endings, but this...ties it up fairly well, I suppose. Dunno.  
><strong>

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><p>Riley never left his bedside; he'd wake up and find her asleep, curled up with the Prophet in her lap. Her explanation had been that she couldn't sit around knowing he'd gone to finish it alone. She'd gone to Kavanagh, who sent a team that Riley insisted on tagging along with. Thankfully, the Auror that had gone with him to Azkaban had heard enough of Davidson's conversation to know where to go.<p>

He'd forever bare the wound, a large deformed circle of pink scar tissue just under his ribcage. It hardly bothered him; no one would see it anyone, save Riley. His other wounds were treated and healed, no traces present. It irked him that he was the one with so few marks.

He had been given pardon of his sentence due to his actions; that he had willingly gone after Greyback alone, which had led to the capture and imprisonment of said werewolf, he was relieved of the charges that had to be dealt with. After all, he had reached the end of his usefulness, really. What were a few stragglers when the leader was gone?

They had begun making full use of the cottage; what was a little Floo-Powder to get away from the city every few days.

The Ministry had decided to give Scabior a position as a low-level Auror (although he had to suffer through training among freshly-graduated students and could have sworn Weasley and Potter were present at one point).

Things had settled down, recovery truly kicked in. Finally. There was something in the air, security and hope and this strange desire to just grin for no reason. That hadn't happened in years, many had said. It was wonderful, amazing. To have to go out and truly not worry about anything.

Finally.

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><p>-<em>Seven Years Later-<em>

Scabior sat on the edge of the bed, willing his son to try and sleep. He had run out of stories to tell. Some of them amended for the sake of not wanting to influence a six-year-old's mind.

"Sam, you 'ave to go to school tomorrow, c'mon, it's late."

"Please, dad? One story?"

The boy had his father's eyes, but a shade of brown hair much lighter than either of his parents. Scabior denied having parents with light hair, and a picture of Riley's mother seemed to confirm his thoughts.

The older man ran a hand through his hair; it was much shorter. He had decided one morning that his hair was becoming a hassle and promptly cut most of it. Riley approved; she was able to properly ruffle it and run her fingers through it without hitting a knot.

"Wha'dya wanna 'ear, then?"

"How did you and mum meet?"

Scabior averted his eyes, his gaze falling on the closet doors to the left of the bed. The truth would be out when he was older, probably. He didn't know about his father being a Snatcher; he did know that they both were on the run during the war.

"Well…I…I don't…"

His eyes caught sight of Riley, leaning on the doorframe. She looked so tired, but happy, finding the sight of Scabior trying to coax their son into a reasonable bedtime hour oddly adorable. She was dressed still; jeans and a sweater that couldn't hide the fact that she was clearly six months pregnant.

"You met during the war, right?" Sam looked to his mother, ignoring his father's presence. The way he did when he hoped to get something.

"Your father and I were both…running from the Ministry. I lost a scarf that was very important to me…" Said scarf hadn't been worn in months. "The one that your grandmother made."

"And I 'ad found it, kept it. You see, your mother had been wearing this very distinct smell. 'nd I was 'opin' I'd be able to find 'er and return it. I 'ave a good sense o' smell, after all."

"And you found her?" Sam's eyes were wide, like a child at Christmas.

"Sort of. More like she found me. An' you know what?"

"What?"

"He thought I was the prettiest woman he'd ever seen." Riley had come over and sat on the bed next to Scabior, a quick save. "He gave me my scarf back, and some food to carry with me. And I left, never thinking I'd see him again."

"But you did."

"I still think you were stalking me."

"Did you have your fight with Greyback then, mum?"

"No, sweetie. That came after. And that's a story for a much later time." She kissed his forehead. "Your father's right, it's bedtime. You're cranky in the morning as it is."

He moaned in protest, his father ruffling his hair and gently pushing him down when he tried to sit up.

Scabior waved his wand, snuffing out the lamp beside the bed and leaving the door open a crack.

They walked down the corridor into their bedroom, his hand resting on the small of her back. They didn't say much to each other. She had thrown on one of his tee shirts and flannel pajama pants, crawling under the covers next to him.

They both knew they'd have to handle their son's questions eventually, properly.

Riley was out as soon as her head hit the pillow. Understandably so. He kissed her lightly, earning a nuzzle in return.

He sighed contently, slipping an arm around the woman next to him and following her lead into sleep.


End file.
